Three Hours to Destiny
by InfinityStar
Summary: Something happened in the early hours of a Sunday morning that remains a blank in Goren's mind. Questions without answers plague him as he searches for the truth. Xover with the mothership because I wanted Jack McCoy to prosecute this.
1. Lost Time

**A/N: I've had this one rattling around in my head for awhile, but it's been making more noise lately, demanding to be let loose. Since things are winding down with a couple of the other stories I have going, I decided to let it have its way and give it its freedom. And it goes without saying that they belong to Dick Wolf, not me. To quote my daughter: _Le sigh._**

* * *

Alex Eames was roused from a sound sleep by a knock at her apartment door. She laid in bed, hoping she was mistaken. The knock sounded again and she looked at the time. 3:13. "Dammit," she muttered as she slid out of her warm bed. Who could be pounding on her door at three in the morning and why?

She pulled on her robe and padded out of the bedroom to the living room. She'd sold her house and returned to the city for several reasons. She'd tried to settle back in after her kidnapping, but even after a year she could no longer get comfortable in the house she once called home. She came to dread going there, using any excuse she could find to stay with her sister or her parents. She'd even slept on Goren's couch a few times, claiming to be too tired for the drive to Rockaway. If he knew any different, he never said. She also felt a real need to remain closer and more available to her partner. After his mother's death, she felt he needed her, even if he wouldn't admit it consciously. She could always find another house next year or the year after. Right now, she was worried about him.

Arriving at the door, she looked through the peephole, surprised to see no one on the other side of the door. _Now wait,_ she thought. _I _know_ I heard knocking._

She started when another knock boomed into the quiet of the room and she looked again. No one. Every remnant of sleep slid from her brain as her adrenaline level shot through the roof. She crossed the room to her desk and withdrew her .38 back-up piece. Checking the chamber, she flipped off the safety and returned to the door. Another knock sounded, this one weaker than the ones before. She slid the chain from its clasp and undid the deadbolt. Preparing herself for anything, she held the gun ready and opened the door.

She stepped back, gasping in alarm. She was not prepared for this. Goren was leaning against the wall beside the door, bleeding heavily from a head wound. "Bobby...?"

He stumbled two steps into the apartment. "Eames..."

Another step and he collapsed. She dropped the gun and fell to her knees beside him, feeling for a pulse and checking his breathing. She didn't missed the smell of alcohol on his breath, but she dismissed it; it was not the cause of his collapse. Quickly, she grabbed the phone, made an officer down request for an ambulance and began to examine him for other injuries. She found a knife wound in his side; his shirt and jeans were saturated with blood. In addition to the head wound, his face was scraped and bruised. She searched for the backup piece she knew he always carried. She didn't find it. "Oh, my God..." she whispered. "What happened to you?"

Once the ambulance was gone, she called Ross as she quickly dressed and left for the hospital. Ross said he would meet her there. Her gut was churning as she drove through the dark streets, trying to imagine what had happened to Goren. She'd talked to him around ten. He'd been home; he'd had a few beers and he was in a good mood. She'd teased him a little and they'd said good night. They seemed to be settling back into the old patterns born of a deeply affectionate friendship. She was still the one who called at bedtime because she was the one who went to bed first, but he had started to call at random times when they weren't at work. She sensed that he just wanted to hear her voice, and she was all right with that. She needed to hear from him, to know that he was all right; she still worried about him.

He had not said anything about going out, and she had not expected him to go anywhere. Once home and well into a six pack, or more, the only place he went was to bed. They lived in the same area of the city, but not in the same neighborhood. Although he'd walked from his place to hers before, when restless nights plagued him and he didn't feel he could drive, she had a sick feeling that was not what had happened, though she was at a loss to figure out what could have driven him from his apartment in the depths of a Sunday morning and turned him up, injured, on her doorstep.

She met Ross in the emergency room hallway; they arrived at the same time. "What happened, Eames?" he demanded.

"I don't know. Goren showed up at my door injured and collapsed. He didn't say anything."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

She sighed. "Friday, but I talked to him last night, around ten. He had no plans to go out. He was at my door just after three."

"Well, let's see if we can't figure something out before I call the chief. Goren's not his favorite detective these days."

Eames frowned darkly, but she appreciated the captain's tendency to protect her partner. He'd been through enough lately. He was a month back from his suspension, and although he never discussed what had happened to him at Tate's, beyond the report he'd filed, she knew it still haunted him. He'd fallen asleep on her couch a week and a half earlier, so she knew first-hand that nightmares still plagued his sleep. She wished there was something she could do to help him and it upset her that there wasn't.

They found the cubicle where a team of two doctors and three nurses were working on Goren. Eames watched, her face dark with worry. There was still a lot of blood. She turned away, arms hugging her midsection as she struggled against tears. She did not want Ross to see how upset she was, fearing he would misinterpret her concern. When a strong arm came to rest around her shoulders, she shuddered and finally broke down, turning into the captain's arms.

As he held her, Ross said quietly, "I understand, Eames. You and your partner have been through a lot, and I get that you are close. So it's all right."

She bunched his jacket in her fists. He was right; they had been through a lot. Was it all going to end here?

The hour that passed before a doctor approached them was interminable. Eames did not like the frantic gestures and stressed tones that colored the doctors' demands of the nurses. Eames looked away for a moment, caught off guard by her reaction to the blood that soaked the doctor's scrubs as he approached them. "You are here with Detective Goren?"

"Yes, we are," Ross answered, introducing himself and Eames. "How is he?"

"He's lost a lot of blood, but we got to him in time. Was he in a barfight?"

Ross frowned. "What makes you ask that?"

"His blood alcohol level was elevated."

Eames jumped in before Ross could reply. "I talked to him last night at home. Whatever he had to drink, it was at home, not in a bar."

"Are you certain he was home, Eames?" Ross asked.

"Yes. I talked to him on his home line." She looked at the captain. "He has nightmares. He..."

Ross touched her arm. "It's all right, Eames. You don't have to explain." He turned back to the doctor. "Is he going to be all right?"

"Yes. The knife wound in his side was deep but no major organs appear to have been hit. Whoever did this to him did a number on him. His head injury is serious, but there doesn't appear to be any underlying damage or fractures. He has extensive bruising on his torso as well. Someone beat the crap out of your officer, captain."

Eames moistened her lips. "Can you tell how long it's been?"

The doctor scratched his chin. "Ballpark, I would say he's been bleeding for awhile, but it's difficult to pin down an exact time. Even though no major vessels were damaged, the bleeding from his head and his side was heavy and steady enough to prevent clotting. If he hadn't been found, he would have bled out by sunrise. Everything is under control now, and we're going to watch him. We can't fully assess the extent of his head injury until he's awake."

"Are you going to admit him?" Ross asked.

"That depends on his mental status when he wakes. If there is any indication his head injury is more serious than we believe, then yes. Otherwise, he can go home, if there's someone to keep an eye on him for a few days."

"He lives alone," Ross said.

"He can stay with me for a few days," Eames said.

Satisfied, the doctor nodded and walked away. Ross studied Eames. "Eames..."

"He's my partner, captain. He has no one else."

"What about his brother?"

"Frank?" she snorted derisively. "Frank can't take care of himself. Besides, Bobby disowned him. He's a junkie and he's unreliable, at best. No, he has no family. He just has me."

"Are you sure you want that responsibility?"

She looked at him for a long moment before deciding it was a question that did not warrant an answer. She had accepted the responsibility for dealing with her difficult partner a long time ago. Turning away from the captain, she went into the treatment room where the nurses were cleaning up. Well aware that Ross was watching her, she stepped up to the bed and slid her hand into Goren's. Studying his bruised face, she soon forgot about Ross and wondered what could possibly have happened between the time she'd said good night to him and the time he turned up at her door.

* * *

It was midmorning when Goren finally began to come around. He opened his eyes slowly and perused his surroundings. _A hospital. What the hell...?_ He attributed the pounding in his head to a hangover, though he wasn't quite sure what to make of the pain in the rest of his body. He shifted his position and slowly sat up, groaning at the pain that flared in his chest and abdomen. The room began to swim and he settled back on the bed. "Bobby?"

"Eames?"

She entered his line of vision from the direction of the doorway, setting a coffee cup on the counter near the sink. She stepped to his side and grasped his hand again. "How do you feel?"

"Not so good. What happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me that. Do you remember talking to me last night?"

"Of course."

"So what happened after we hung up?"

He raised his hand to run it over his head, looking surprised by the bandage and the pain he encountered when his hand came to rest on his head. "I, um, I watched television for awhile, had a couple more beers, and fell asleep on the couch."

"When did you leave the apartment?"

"Leave? I didn't."

She wasn't sure what to make of his denial. "Bobby, you were at my door at three this morning, bleeding badly. Someone beat the shit out of you."

He gave that some thought, taking stock of his pain. "You'd think I'd remember something like that."

She hesitated before offering a potential explanation. "A blackout?"

"From what? I was drinking beer, Eames, and I didn't have _that_ much. I can tell you what I was watching, if I wanted to. I remember last night, right up until I fell asleep."

"Were you alone?"

He gave her a patronizing look. "Who would I be with?"

"One of your buddies, maybe. A girlfriend...?"

He snorted. "No girlfriend. You should know that. And I haven't talked to most of my buddies since my mother got sick. I don't have many friends."

"What about Logan?"

He frowned. "What about him?"

"You hang out with him sometimes."

He nodded. "Sometimes. Not last night. I was alone, Eames."

The conversation ended when a nurse came into the room. "Oh, you're awake. Good. I'll get Dr. Beringer."

In the few minutes it took her to retrieve the doctor, neither of them spoke. They were trying to make heads or tails of what had happened during the night and why he did not remember it. Eames was glad Ross had not stayed; the captain would have made Goren nervous. The doctor introduced himself and spoke with concern. "How do you feel?"

"Kind of like I was hit by a truck."

"Maybe you were. Do you remember what happened to you?"

"Sorry, no. The last thing I remember was watching television in my living room."

The doctor looked at his clipboard. "Do you know how much you had to drink last night?"

"From around eight or nine until about midnight I had eight, maybe ten beers. I knew it was going to be a difficult sleep night. But I didn't drink enough to make me blackout. I haven't had a blackout since I was in the Army."

Beringer nodded and glanced at the chart in his hand. "That seems about right. Can you tell me what day today is?"

"Uh, it's Sunday."

"Do you know the date?"

"January twenty, uh, twenty-fourth." He knew what the doctor was doing. "My name is Robert Goren. I'm a cop, and this is my partner. I'm in a hospital emergency room in New York City, which is where I live and work. Satisfied?"

Beringer smiled. "I'm satisfied." He looked at Eames. "You can take him home. Just be wary and watch for the symptoms we discussed."

Goren looked from the doctor to Eames. "What's going on?"

Setting the edge of the clipboard on the bed, Beringer leaned on it and said, "Your captain said you live alone, and your partner offered to let you stay with her for a few days, because of the severity of your head injury."

"Other than a headache, my head feels fine."

"The other option is we admit you."

"No."

Eames smiled. She saw that coming a mile away. "Then you're stuck with me, Goren." She picked up her coat, and realized he had not been wearing one. "You didn't have a coat."

He looked down at his bloody jeans and bare chest. "Um..."

Beringer said, "I'll get you a shirt."

"Thank you." When the doctor was gone, he looked at Eames. "Is all this my blood?"

"As far as I know it is."

He cocked his head at that response and asked, "What do you think happened to me?"

She rested her hand on his arm, gently caressing his skin with her thumb. "I wish I knew."

The doctor brought him a scrub shirt, and a nurse signed him out so he could leave. After signing the paperwork, he asked Eames, "Does it matter to you where we go?"

"Why?"

"I'm more comfortable in my apartment."

She weighed the options and answered, "Your couch is a lot more comfortable than mine, and you'll probably do better in your own bed. All right. Your place it is."

"You really don't have to stay with me, Eames."

"Let's go. You'll be lucky if I let you out of my sight again."

He raised his eyebrows and she smiled at him. But he said nothing more as he slid from the stretcher and followed her out of the hospital.


	2. Unexpected Visitors

When they got to Goren's apartment, he went into the bedroom to lay down and Eames called Ross to arrange a couple of days off, which he readily granted. After hanging up with the captain, she went to the bedroom and watched him from the doorway for a few minutes. As she turned to leave, he called her name. "What is it, Bobby?"

"Come here, please."

She approached the bed as he shifted from the edge and bade her sit down. She sat and he touched her arm lightly. "Eames, I've been trying to remember what happened, but I keep drawing a blank. The memories just are not there. It's driving me nuts."

"The doctor said it could be a result of your head injury."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Amnesia?"

She knew that his mind was his biggest asset--and the source of his greatest anxiety. It never sat well with him when his mind failed him. She gave him a smile she hoped was reassuring. "You took a good blow to the head. Give it time to recover. He said sometimes the memories will return. Sometimes, though, they're lost forever. There's no predicting which it will be. We just have to wait and see." She gently squeezed his arm. "Let me fix you something to eat. Try to rest, and that means giving your mind a rest, too."

He smiled briefly as she rose from the bed and walked toward the door. "Eames?" She turned and looked at him expectantly. "Thank you. I appreciate your willingness to stay here for a few days."

"Thank you for letting me do this. I know how much you value your privacy. I'll try to stay out of the way."

She left the room and he turned onto his side, his stomach unsettled by the spinning of the room. Closing his eyes, he tried to sleep.

* * *

Wednesday afternoon, Eames went to the grocery store, determined to leave his kitchen stocked with food before she went back to her own apartment the following day. They had spent the last few days comfortable with each other. He spent a lot of time in his bedroom and she let him be. After dinner, he sat with her in the living room to watch television for a few hours before they turned in. Neither his behavior nor his condition caused her any concern and she was satisfied that he was recovering well from his injuries.

For his part, Goren was still deeply frustrated that he could not remember how he'd come to be injured. He was missing several hours of time from Sunday morning and he had no idea where they went. He didn't know what to do with that failure of his mind to remember.

While Eames was gone, he took the opportunity to lay on the couch and watch television. He had relinquished his apartment to her and as much as he enjoyed having her around, he would be glad to be at home alone once more. He'd spent his life alone and it was what he was used to. He didn't do well sharing his living space with someone else. His apartment was his refuge from the world and he liked it that way.

He had just dozed off when a knock at the door roused him. He took his time answering it. Pulling the door open, he was surprised to see two homicide detectives from Logan's old precinct standing in the hallway. "Hello, Detective Goren," Ed Green greeted him.

"Detective Green. What can I do for you?"

"This is my partner, Cyrus Lupo. Can we talk to you for a few minutes?"

Goren hesitated for a moment before stepping out of the way and allowing the two detectives into his apartment. Green indicated the bruises on Goren's face. "What happened?"

Goren smirked a little. "I pissed off my partner."

Green laughed. He had met Goren a couple of times, and he liked the big detective. He had also met Eames, and he knew both by reputation. Eames was well-thought-of in the department. The opinion of Goren varied from respect to annoyance to outright hatred. No one seemed to know what to make of him. "I almost believe that. But really, what happened?"

"Does it matter?"

"I don't know. Maybe, it does. Can you tell us where you were Saturday night?"

"I was here." He pointed to the couch. "Uh, right there to be exact."

"Alone?"

"Yes, alone."

Green seemed uncomfortable and Goren was suspicious. Lupo wandered around the room. "Where was your roommate?" he asked casually.

"I live alone," Goren replied.

Lupo held up a shirt Eames had draped over the back of a chair. "This is yours?"

Goren's eyes narrowed. "I like a tight fit."

Green laughed. "He's allowed female guests, Cy."

Goren bristled, not sure why he was suddenly defensive. "It belongs to my partner. She's been here for the past few days, for medical reasons."

Green arched a brow. "Which brings us back to your injuries. What happened, detective?"

"What's the deal? Why are you questioning me?"

The senior homicide detective continued to be evasive. "Prove to us you were here and we'll go away."

"Ask my partner."

"You just said you were home alone," Lupo pointed out, a note of victory in his tone.

Now Goren was getting agitated. He got the feeling they were trying to trip him up and he wanted to know why. "I was home alone, detective," he snapped. "Eames called me on my landline, between ten and eleven. I fell asleep on the couch. Now why are you asking me to account for my whereabouts?"

Green once again shifted uncomfortably. Lupo said, "We are investigating a homicide that occurred sometime after midnight Sunday morning."

"A homicide?" Goren's frown deepened. "And you're questioning me? What do you think I had to do with it?"

Green's tone held a note of sympathy. "You tell us. Your trace was found at the scene, detective."

Goren remained calm, slowly lowering himself to the couch. His face took on a thoughtful expression. Green and Lupo watched him. "You don't seem surprised," Lupo pointed out.

He was leaning against the wall by the door, but Goren could tell he was on edge. He looked at Green. "Does this victim have a name?"

"Lorraine Hodges."

Green noticed some of the color drain from Goren's face. It was his only tell. He glanced at his partner and let out a heavy sigh. "Let's go to our house and explore this in a little more depth, shall we?"

When Goren didn't react, Lupo pushed his coat open a little more, giving himself easier access to his weapon. Goren wasn't certain what he expected him to do, but he didn't like Lupo's edginess. Finally, he said, "I, uh, I need to leave a note for my partner. She'll be back soon."

Green nodded and watched him stand and walk to the counter near the kitchen.

Goren pulled the pad in front of him and picked up a pen. _Eames,_ he wrote. _Something came up and I had to go out. There's no reason for you to stay tonight. I'll call you later. Thanks. For everything. Bobby._

Setting down the pen, he nodded at Green. "Okay. Let's go."

He grabbed his coat from its hook near the door and pulled it on as he followed Green out the door. Lupo brought up the rear, pulling the door shut behind him. Goren locked it and the two homicide detectives escorted him from his building.

* * *

Anita Van Buren studied the man in the interrogation room, her arms folded across her chest. Green and Lupo came into the observation room and waited. She finally spoke. "He knows we're watching him."

"Of course he does," Green agreed.

"The department rumor mill works overtime on this detective. They say he's unstable, a real powder keg. What's your take, Eddie?"

"I don't know, lou. He reacted to the vic's name, so I think he knew her, but he didn't act like he knew what we were talking about."

Lupo snorted. "He hardly reacted at all when we told him about the murder."

Green shook his head. "He was surprised. I don't think he knew."

"So how can you explain his blood and his prints at the scene?" Van Buren asked.

"I can't."

"Then find out."

Goren was agitated, but he was able to keep it under control for the moment. He looked toward the door when it opened. Green sat across from him; Lupo hung back to watch. He knew the tactic. He and Eames used it all the time. He watched Lupo for a moment then diverted his attention to Green. The senior detective began. "You knew the victim," he said, a statement of fact.

He'd given that much away, he conceded to himself. Slowly, he nodded. "I did, once."

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"It's been a long time. I still worked narcotics, so maybe eight years."

"What kind of relationship did you have?"

Goren drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. "We were friends."

"You dated her?"

"I didn't say that. I said we were friends. We didn't date and I never slept with her. She was determined to wait until she was married, and I was not inclined toward marriage, so we remained friends. Nothing more."

Lupo asked, "Did you ever take her to dinner?"

Goren leveled a cool gaze in his direction. "We had dinner together often, yes."

"And that doesn't constitute dating?"

"Not when she paid for her own dinner, it doesn't. I told you, I didn't date her. I know what dating entails."

Green fingered the folder in front of him. "If you were friends, why did you lose contact?"

"That was her choice. She started dating a broker from Wall Street, and when they started to get serious, he told her he didn't like the fact that she had a friend who was a drug cop. She walked away from our friendship, and I let her go. I didn't see her after that."

Green opened the file. "Dennis Bergeron. Sound familiar?"

"That was her broker boyfriend."

"Husband," Green said simply.

Goren's only reaction was a non-commital shrug. "I told you, I haven't heard from her."

Lupo asked, "So you didn't see her Saturday night?"

"Not unless Saturday night was eight years ago. I had no reason to contact her, and she did not contact me."

Green pulled out a picture and placed it on the table, turning it around so Goren could see it and pushing it toward him. It was a crime scene photo. Goren touched the edge of the picture and drew it closer, studying it. Lori Hodges lay in the middle of a king-sized bed, spread-eagled. Her throat had been cut and she was naked. Green laid down another picture. There was a lot of blood around the scene, including a huge smear of it against one wall. Goren lifted his gaze to Green. "Raped?"

"ME says no."

"The positioning...he meant to humiliate, baring everything open for the world to see. Where was the husband?"

"Business trip to Chicago. Confirmed."

"You said my trace was there? What did you find?"

"Prints, in the living room. And all that blood was not hers. There are two different types. Hers was O negative. Her husband's is also O negative. The other type found in the room is A positive."

Goren looked thoughtful and turned his attention back to the picture. "I'm A positive."

"We know. Preliminary matches flagged your profile."

He arched a brow. "My DNA profile is in the system?"

"Apparently."

"And when you ran the samples...it was confirmed."

Green nodded. "Yes."

The room was silent for awhile as Green laid out a couple of pictures and Goren studied them. Lupo broke the silence. "You're looking at those pictures as if you've never seen that scene before."

Goren gave him a look of exaggerated patience. "Because I haven't. I told you, I was home Saturday night."

Green set a final paper down on the table and pushed it toward Goren. It was the record of his emergency room visit. Goren studied it for a long time, his eyes riveted to the words 'possible traumatic amnesia.' With a deep sigh, he asked, "Do I need a lawyer?"

"It couldn't hurt," Green admitted.

"Am I under arrest?"

There was another long period of silence before Goren looked up from the ER report to Green, who slowly nodded. As he got to his feet and pulled out his cuffs, his manner was rife with regret and that carried over to his tone as he said, "Yes, detective. You are. For the murder of Lorraine Hodges."

Goren returned his eyes to the crime scene photos. "I need to make a phone call."


	3. Emotional Ties

**A/N: I know that Barry Moredock is a constitutional lawyer who specializes in First Amendment cases, but I love the character, and John Cullum, the actor who portrays him, so I made allowances so he could represent Bobby. Also I wanted to use Ida Boucher as his trial judge as a tribute to the actress who portrayed her, the late, wonderful Lynne Thigpen.**

* * *

Green led Goren to his desk and undid the cuffs behind his back. He motioned to the phone, leaning against the desk as Goren dialed. Eames answered on the third ring. "Hey, what came up?"

"Um...Eames, I...I'm in some pretty serious trouble."

"What kind of trouble? Where are you?"

He sighed. "I'm at the 2-7. They, uh, they just arrested me...for murder."

He listened to her stunned silence, which stretched out uncomfortably long. "Eames?"

"M-Murder?"

"Looks like we're getting the blanks filled in about those three hours I'm missing," he said in a lame attempt at a joke.

"Where are they holding you?"

"Here for right now. I, um, I need a lawyer..."

"I'll make some calls and I'll be there within the hour."

"Thank you, Eames."

He set the phone in its cradle and placed his arms behind his back so Green could cuff him again. He looked toward Lupo, who seemed to still be anticipating trouble from him. He sighed and let Green lead him to the holding area. As he removed the cuffs, Green said "We're going to keep you here until your bail hearing, probably tomorrow afternoon."

Goren nodded and sat down on the bunk in the small cell as the door slammed closed with a resounding, metallic clang. Goren leaned back against the wall in the corner of the bunk, rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes.

* * *

He had not meant to doze off, and he was surprised that he did. The clang of the cell door opening woke him and he looked blearily at Lupo, who held out a pair of cuffs. "Come on, Goren. Your lawyer is here."

Goren got up off the bed and turned around with his hands behind his back. Lupo closed the cuffs on his wrists and grabbed his arm, leading him to an interrogation room, where Eames waited with an older man, dressed in a suit with a briefcase sitting on the table in front of him.

When the door opened and Lupo led Goren in, Eames got to her feet. She pressed her hand to her mouth and struggled with her emotions.

Lupo removed the cuffs and stepped from the room. Goren rubbed his wrists and as he approached the table, the other man stood up and extended his hand. "Barry Moredock, detective. My specialty is constitutional issues; as a law school professor, I taught constitutional law. But I have had experience as a criminal lawyer and when your partner called me and asked so sweetly, I agreed to represent you."

As he shook Moredock's hand, Goren raised an eyebrow at his partner, who had taken her seat again. He lowered himself into a chair, not taking his eyes from Eames. Finally, he looked at the lawyer. "Thank you, Mr. Moredock."

"Tell me why they arrested you," Moredock said as he removed a legal pad from his briefcase and a pen from the inner pocket of his suit jacket.

Goren's eyes shifted toward Eames. "They found my blood and prints at the scene of a murder."

Moredock began to write. "Do you have an alibi?"

"No, and I can't remember anything about the time they estimate the murder happened."

The lawyer nodded his head slowly, loosened his tie and looked at the partners. "All right, kids. Let's start at the top..."

* * *

Jack McCoy had already looked through the file that was in front of him. He had received it just before lunch, and he was reading it carefully, from start to finish, for the third time. Robert Goren...he knew the man by reputation, although he had never met him. Rumor had it he was a brilliant detective and profiler, a reluctant star in the high-profile Major Case Squad who had gotten himself into some trouble late last year, suspended for several months when his mental stability was brought into question. But he had been reinstated so his competency was no longer an issue, officially.

He looked up when Connie Rubirosa entered the office. "I want this detective's personnel file, Connie."

She looked surprised. "You're taking the case, Jack?"

McCoy nodded. "Yes. This isn't going to be an easy one. Why would a man with so much forensic experience leave so much evidence of his presence at the scene of a murder he committed?"

"The lab results from his emergency room visit show a blood alcohol level of .12, in addition to his head injury."

"See if he has any alcohol-related priors, or any kind of criminal charges...assault, excessive force, any kind of violence. When is his bail hearing?"

"This afternoon at five."

He nodded and turned back to the file. "Try to get me his IAB file before then."

She gave him a skeptical look before leaving the office.

* * *

Judge Ida Boucher watched Jack McCoy and Barry Moredock square off in front of her, arguing the case for and against bail for a cop charged with murder.

"Your honor," McCoy began. "The people want remand."

Moredock argued, "My client is going nowhere. He has no resources and his only ties are here in New York."

"On the contrary, the defendant has no ties at all, no family, no emotional bonds with anyone. He is a definite flight risk."

"My client is a police officer, never charged before with any kind of violent crime. He has lived in New York all his life and has significant emotional ties to the community. He also has emotional ties to a number of close friends, all in New York. He is determined to clear his name so he can return to doing his job, a job he loves and one he is very good at."

Boucher looked at the file before her, taking into account all indications that this was not a violent man standing before her. She said, "Bail is set at one million dollars, cash or bond."

McCoy accepted the judge's decision, gathering his files. He had doubts as to Goren's ability to raise any bail. The man was going nowhere.

Moredock waited while Goren was cuffed and led out of the courtroom. Eames met him near the back of the courtroom. "A million dollars?" she said, frustrated.

"That's reasonable, considering the nature of the crime he is accused of."

She walked with him out of the courtroom. "Mr. Moredock, I can't come up with that kind of money, and I can't bear the thought of Bobby in Riker's. He's a cop, and he put a lot of people in there. He...he won't live until trial!"

Moredock rested his hand on her arm. "Relax, Alex. I have arranged for him to be in solitary, under protective watch. He'll be all right. I'll talk to you soon."

He squeezed her shoulder and moved past her. Eames remained where she was, thinking, as people scurried past her. Then she hurried down the hall and out of the courthouse.

* * *

The next day, Eames went to Riker's to talk to Goren. They led him into the room and uncuffed him. She waved to the guards. "You don't have to stay."

He sat across from her as the guards left the room. "You shouldn't be here, Eames."

"You're the one who shouldn't be here." He looked worn out. "How else am I going to talk to you if I don't come here?"

He shook his head. "Eames..." He let out a heavy breath and rubbed his temple. "Maybe I do...belong here..."

"Come on, Bobby. You didn't hurt anyone."

"I don't know if I did or didn't."

She looked at her hands. She hated his self-deprecating view of himself so she changed the subject. "About your bail, Bobby...we'll have you out of here in the next twenty-four hours."

He stared at her, confused. "Have me out? Eames, my bail is a million dollars."

She nodded. "I know. We have it covered."

"Covered? How? And who is we?"

"Property bonds. My parents have put up their house for a half million, my sister and her husband put up theirs for two hundred and Jim and Angie Deakins put up the remaining three hundred."

He stared at her again, incredulous. He launched himself from his chair, knocking it over as he began to pace, agitated. He started to speak three times, but nothing came to him. Eames was caught off guard by the look of horror on his face. "Bobby...?"

He was shaking his head. "No. No, Eames. I can't let them do that. Thank you, but no thanks. I would rather stay where I am."

"Are you planning to skip bail?"

He was breathing hard. "Of course not, but I still won't have them..."

"It's not your decision, Goren, and it's already in the works. The court already has the papers it needs for my parents' house. My brother-in-law and Jimmy are taking care of the rest. You and I are going to get to the bottom of this, and Logan is going to help us. So calm your ass down and deal with it."

After a few more minutes, he did sit down, but his agitation had not decreased and his face was a study in misery. "I...can't repay any of you..."

"You don't have to and we don't expect anything from you. It's a secure deal, Bobby. No one is risking anything." She sighed. "Jack McCoy is prosecuting your case. He's already gotten your personnel jacket and your IAB file. Logan said he also ran a background on you, looking for priors."

"There's nothing to find, Eames."

"He's going to get your Army records, too."

"Like I said, there's nothing to find."

She shifted in her seat. "What about her?"

"Her who?"

"Lorraine Hodges. Eddie Green said you knew her."

He nodded. "Knew, Eames. I haven't seen her for a very long time."

"So a background check of her won't bring up any ties to you?"

"I don't see how. We were friends and nothing more."

Eames looked at her hands, picking at a hangnail on her thumb. "Bobby, her husband is claiming you had an affair with her. He said he saw you with her, and when he demanded she end it, she did not deny it was you. He claims you killed her when she tried to break it off."

"What? That's crazy. I don't know who he saw, but it wasn't me. I never met the man and I haven't seen Lori in the last eight years."

She leaned closer. "How can you explain your prints at her house and your blood in her bedroom?"

He averted his eyes, struggling with his own emotions. "I...I can't, Alex."

The despair in his voice touched her heart. She reached out and touched his hand. He started to withdraw it, but she grabbed hold before he could pull it completely away. He looked down as her thumb stroked the back of his hand. Silently, he lowered his head and rested it on their joined hands. With her other hand, she gently stroked his hair. His shoulders shook and she laid her head against his, caressing his neck with her fingers, comforting, because she was at a loss over what else she could do for him. Her own tears spilled unnoticed into his hair, and neither of them moved for a long time.


	4. Laying A Foundation

Jack McCoy looked up from his reading and wearily eyed the thick files that were piled on the conference table in front of him. His gaze shifted toward the door when Rubirosa came into the room carrying a couple of folders.

He waved his hand over the table. "All this information and nothing I can build a solid case on."

"Isn't the crime scene enough?"

"Yes and no. All it really proves is that he was there. I have to eliminate that reasonable doubt and convince the jury that this man is capable of such a violent crime. Right now it's going to be a very hard sell. What do you have?"

"I checked him for priors. Nothing. No DUI's, no assaults, no criminal complaints, nothing. I couldn't even find a parking ticket."

McCoy slapped the file in front of him. "Internal Affairs has investigated him a number of times, but they never filed charges." He indicated a smaller file to his left. "His partner has more officer-involved shootings than he does. She was cleared in every one, but that's neither here nor there." His hand rested again on Goren's file. "This cop uses words as his weapon. He prefers to talk down a suspect rather than have it out with him. What else do you have?"

"Family background. This will impress the hell out of you. His father was a gambler with a definite alcohol problem. Five DUI's and over a dozen assaults, mostly bar fights, over the last five years of his life. His brother followed in their father's footsteps as a regular at the racetrack, and he's had a handful of minor possession charges in the last three years, but none of them led to any time served. His mother died last year of lymphoma. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia in 1968 and was in and out of hospitals until he finally admitted her to Carmel Ridge in 1992, his rookie year with NYPD. His brother has a son who is bipolar and is currently a fugitive. He escaped from Tate's Correctional Facility upstate in October when Detective Goren went on an unauthorized undercover investigation that got him a two month suspension. Apparently, his investigation led to charges being brought against the warden at Tate's." She flipped a couple of pages. "A departmental hearing led to his reinstatement earlier this month, and a psychiatric evaluation determined him fit for duty. In his family, Jack, he's the normal one."

McCoy let out a slow breath at that statement. "I want the psychiatrist who evaluated him on our witness list."

"This wasn't his first evaluation."

"How many doctors have seen him?"

"Two. Skoda and Olivet, a half dozen times in the last fifteen years."

McCoy nodded. "Put them both on the list." He looked thoughtful. "See what you can find out about his mother's mental illness. With a family background like that...any indication he was abused as a child?"

"Nothing I have here."

He turned back to the open file in front of him. "See what you can dig up. Check old hospital records, doctor's records...where did he grow up?"

"Canarsie, in Brooklyn."

"Check with the schools and the local precinct. See if they have anything."

"From the sixties and early seventies?"

He looked up. "You never know until you ask, Connie. People in the old neighborhoods don't move around too much. Have Green and Lupo ask around and see if anyone remembers the Goren brothers."

* * *

Goren was laying on the couch in his apartment, lost in thought. Once his bail was posted, Eames took him home and stayed with him. That had been late the previous afternoon, and she was still there. He was glad she'd stayed; he wasn't up for being alone at the moment.

The room was quiet. Since leaving Riker's, they had not talked much. Several attempts by her to draw him into conversation had been met by grunts or single-syllable answers. He wanted her there but he really wasn't in the mood for conversation.

An empty pizza box lay closed on the coffee table along with two empty coffee cups and a couple of beer bottles. He hadn't had much appetite for lunch, but she'd coaxed him into eating a couple of slices. Eames had a pad of paper in her lap, taking an accounting of the things they knew for certain and the things they had to investigate. At the top of her list was the statement that her partner had not killed anyone. Beyond that, she had more questions than answers and she had to figure some way to draw him out or they would never be able to build a defensible case. She looked up every time he moved, but he remained quiet, so when he did speak, she was surprised. He held up the beer bottle he was holding in a mock salute and said, "Do you think if I drink enough of these, this will all go away like a bad dream?"

The look on her face softened. "Bobby..."

He didn't have to see her face to hear the emotion in her tone, and he interpreted it as pity, which set off a fire of resentment in his gut. "No! Don't...Eames, I can take a lot of shit, but I can't take pity. Not from you. Don't feel sorry for me."

"Feel sorry for you? Don't be stupid. I don't feel sorry for you, you horse's ass, but if you insist on being a jerk, I'll go home."

"No...please. Stay. I'm sorry. It was a lame joke."

"Very lame. Don't do that any more."

They were finally talking and she relaxed a little. When he spoke again, it was to ask the question she had been anticipating. "Eames...Why...why did your family do that for me, put up their homes for my bail? And how did Deakins find out what was going on?"

She was ready with the answer, which was the honest truth. "My parents like you, and they wanted to help. The same with my sister. I know that's hard for you to believe right now, but they do. Deakins contacted me. He saw the news, and he wanted the truth about what was going on. I didn't ask him; he offered."

The only way she was going to find the answers they needed was to ask and hope he would continue to talk to her. She was afraid he was going to shut down on her, but the questions had to be asked. Keeping her voice neutral, she said, "Tell me about Lorraine Hodges."

He shrugged. "There isn't much to tell. I met her my rookie year. She worked the secretarial pool. We had common interests, and we liked spending time together. She'd go to the shooting range with me and I'd go to watch the Rangers play with her."

"So you dated her?"

"No. We never dated. She paid her way and I paid mine. That was how she wanted it. She made it very clear that she wasn't interested in sex outside marriage, and I was equally clear that I didn't want to get married. The boundaries were established and we never crossed them."

"How often did you see her?"

He tucked his arm under his head. "I don't know. A couple of times a month, maybe. About the same as I saw my other friends. It was nothing special, Eames. She was just a friend."

"But you had a falling out."

"Not really. I already went through this with Green and Lupo."

"So run it down with me now."

He let out a sigh of deep frustration and annoyance, but he did not turn them on her. Calmly, he explained, "I was working narcotics when she started dating Dennis. Apparently, he thought it was beneath her to be friends with a cop, especially one involved with drug dealers. He was elevating her station in life and if she wanted to continue being with him, there were certain elements of her life she needed to leave behind. Her cop friendships were near the top of his list of undesirable attributes, along with her job, so she walked away from that part of her life, including her friendship with me. I haven't seen her since."

"You sound...bitter."

"No, I'm not. I was glad she was happy. I didn't care for the fact that he was dictating who she could be friends with, but that was her decision and I respected it."

"Did you argue with her about it?"

"Not that I remember, no."

"But you were at her place Saturday night."

His hand came to rest over the healing knife wound in his side and he scratched it. "So says the evidence, yes."

She sighed. "Stop that; it'll get infected." She flipped through the pages on the pad in her lap. "Logan is pulling your phone records and hers. We're treading very carefully because this is not our case and we don't want to step on any toes. We have a serious conflict of interest here. Ross gave us the go-ahead, but he told us to be careful. One call from Van Buren and he'll shut us down."

"Eames, don't stick your neck out for me. Let Moredock do his job."

"He is. We're just giving him a hand." She hesitated. "Where were you on Saturday, Bobby?"

He tipped his head and studied her for a moment, consciously reminding himself that she only wanted to help him. "I went to Brooklyn, to visit my mother's grave. I stopped for lunch at a pub in my old neighborhood. The bartender knew my dad; he'll remember me. After that, I went home. I got here around six, broke out a beer and spent the evening watching television and drinking. That was it."

"What about Mr. Bergeron's claim that Lori was having an affair with you?"

"He can say whatever he wants, that doesn't make it so. I have not seen Lori for about eight years, not even in passing. Hell, I haven't even thought about her for years. She was married. I don't date married women. And the Lori I knew would never have had an affair, no matter how unhappy her marriage was. Maybe she changed; it happens. But I wouldn't know."

"Would she have called you if she was in trouble?"

"After all this time, why would she?" He closed his eyes for a moment before he sighed wearily. "Have you seen the crime scene report?"

"No."

"So you don't know if they recovered the murder weapon?"

"I heard that they did, but nothing more."

"Mr. Moredock is entitled to that report. I want to know if my prints are on that weapon."

She shuffled through some papers, pulling out a single sheet. "He hasn't gotten it yet. I'll see what I can do."

"Just...don't get yourself in any trouble on my behalf, Eames."

"Don't worry about me. I can take care of myself."

He returned his attention to the ceiling. After a long while, he asked, "Do you think I could have done it?"

She waited until he looked at her, wanting him to see her face. "No," she replied honestly. "I don't."

"Why not?"

"You don't have the nature of a killer."

"Come on, Eames. You know that people can't be predicted. We all have it in us somewhere to become...primal. Anger, rage...those are primal emotions."

"I've seen you angry, Bobby, sober and drunk. I still can't see you killing someone, particularly not a woman you once called a friend."

He shrugged. "And yet she's dead."

"But not at your hand. Trust us. We'll find the evidence we need to get the guy who really did it."

He sat up suddenly. "Tomorrow, I want to see Dennis Bergeron."

She pointed a finger at him. "That's not a good idea, Bobby. Logan and I will go to talk to him. He won't be as defensive or angry talking to us."

Frustrated, he leaned back against the couch, but he nodded. "You're right." He grabbed a pad of paper from the coffee table and began to write. "There are a couple of things I want to know..."


	5. Background Investigations

Dennis Bergeron lived in a comfortable home in a nice, upscale but not elite neighborhood. As Eames and Logan stood on the porch waiting for someone to come to the door, Logan read over the notepad Goren had written on. His questions, Logan felt, were legitimate. Goren was seeking answers that he himself would want to know were the situation reversed. On the drive over, Eames had expressed concern, offering him the pad so he could judge for himself whether the questions Goren wanted answered were too personal. She knew her partner's tendency to toe the line and sometimes jump right over it. Now Logan looked up at her from the paper. "This guy is accusing Goren not only of adultery but of murder. Both of those actions go against his moral compass, and I can't blame him for wanting to know where this guy is coming from. I'd want to know, too." He studied her intently. "You're being overprotective."

She opened her mouth to protest but she realized he was right. She did want to protect Goren, but she was at a loss over how to go about it when he wasn't inclined to even let her try. "Do you think the answers are out there?"

"They've gotta be somewhere. Something happened here Sunday morning and somebody out there knows what. There were at least three people here: Lori Hodges, Goren and the guy who killed her and tried to kill him."

Before Eames could answer, the door to the house opened and they found themselves facing a tall, thin man who looked like he'd been dragged behind a train. "May I help you?"

"Dennis Bergeron?" Eames asked.

"That's me."

She and Logan took out their badges. "I'm Detective Eames and this is Detective Logan. We know you've spoken with our colleagues, but we have some follow-up questions for you about Sunday morning."

Bergeron studied the badges wearily before stepping out of the way to let them in. He led them into the living room and offered them coffee. Declining the offer, Eames got right to the point. "Mr. Bergeron, you have made some very serious allegations against a police detective. On what basis do you make those accusations?"

Bergeron's face grew dark and some of the weariness fled in the wake of his anger. "Are you here to defend that bastard who killed my wife?"

"No, sir. We are here to determine if he is the man who actually killed her. Our job is to find the truth, and make sure the right man is sent to prison."

He looked at Logan when he spoke. "Oh, he's the right man, all right. I found out last month that he has been having an affair with my wife, and I confronted her about it."

Logan leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. "How did you find out?"

"I saw them together, in a diner downtown."

Logan shrugged. "I go to diners with women all the time. That doesn't mean I'm dating them."

"He _kissed_ her, detective. Do you kiss your dinner companions?"

"A kiss is not proof of an affair, Mr. Bergeron."

Bergeron's eyes narrowed. "It was the way he kissed her. Only lovers kiss like that."

"How certain are you that it was Goren?"

"He was a big man, well-dressed, confident...just the way Lori had always described him. I know he once had a thing for her, and I always suspected he was lurking in the wings. When I confronted her, she did not deny that he was her lover. I demanded she end the affair and then we would discuss the manner in which she would make it up to me and regain my trust." He looked at Logan. "How would you have handled it, detective?"

"Probably not as good as you say you did."

Bergeron stiffened in his seat, offended by Logan's tone. "Lorraine and I were married for eight years, and the spectre of this man loomed over our entire marriage. He could not handle losing her, and so he raped her and then he killed her. I have no doubt of that, and neither should you."

Eames looked at Logan before giving Bergeron a fake smile. "It's our job to doubt, Mr. Bergeron. Where were you at the time of your wife's murder?"

He took his time answering her, his tone making it it abundantly clear that he did not view her as an equal. "On a business trip to Chicago. I arrived home late Sunday and found Lori. If I had known where to find Goren, I would never have called the police. I always prefer to take care of my own business."

Eames got to her feet and Logan followed suit. She said, "We are sorry for your loss, Mr. Bergeron. We'll be in touch."

"Thank you for coming by, detectives."

He walked them to the door, where Eames paused. "One more thing, Mr. Bergeron. Have you ever met Robert Goren?"

"No. Never."

"Thank you."

As they walked to the car, Eames said, "He's never met Goren, yet he identified him sitting with his wife in a diner downtown."

Logan nodded slowly. "Maybe an introduction is in order."

"That was my thought exactly."

"Today?"

"No. Goren needs to prepare and we want to catch Mr. Bergeron offguard. Later in the week, we'll see just how well he can identify his wife's lover."

* * *

Sometimes, Connie Rubirosa hated her job. She looked at the box of files on the seat beside her as she drove back to Manhattan from Brooklyn and wondered what else was hidden within them. A cursory glance through just one of them was enough to make her wonder just what had gone on behind closed doors at the Goren household forty years ago.

She had spent the early part of the week visiting several Brooklyn hospitals with a subpoena, requesting records that had been archived long ago. They were fortunate that it had only taken a few days to retrieve the records. Sometimes it took weeks. She had just picked up the records and was struck by the difference in the files that belonged to the brothers. Young Bobby's files were more than twice the size of his brother's, and she wondered at that.

She had just finished up at Canarsie High School, where the brothers had gone to school as teens. Three teachers remembered the Goren brothers clearly enough to talk with her. Angela Munoz, who taught chemistry, could not find enough praise for Frank's intelligence and potential. She knew that boy would go places, make something positive of himself. Rubirosa didn't have the heart to tell her that his father had effectively derailed his older son's ambition and led him into a downward spiral Frank had not had the ability to stop. She remembered little of Bobby beyond his tendency to cut her class or show up unprepared. The other two teachers also remembered Frank as a smart, devoted student with a lot of potential but they remembered his younger brother as well.

Ralph Cameron, a junior biology teacher, remembered a troubled kid with a bright, curious mind who failed to apply himself to his full potential. He'd gotten mixed messages from the boy's parents. His father dismissed the teacher's concern. When told his son had shown up for class drunk, William Goren had laughed and claimed "boys will be boys." Frances Goren had shown deep concern for her younger son during several conversations, but Cameron got the impression she had done nothing to address those concerns with Bobby. Cameron told her that he tried to reach out to the boy, but Bobby resisted his efforts. He was an angry, withdrawn young man headed for serious trouble.

Peggy Stachowiak taught English to sophomores and seniors, and she remembered young Bobby very well. Like Cameron, she'd received mixed messages from the parents when expressing her concern for their son. She, however, had several advantages that her colleague never had, and she'd done her best to capitalize on them. Her sophomore classes focused on grammar, which Bobby knew very well. That had led to boredom which forced her to develop ways to challenge the boy. She'd been pleased with his response to her efforts. Senior year found Bobby in her literature class, where he really shined. He loved to read and his observations about the books he read were brilliantly insightful. It was through his love for books that she found a way to reach him. Her biggest advantage over his other teachers, however, was the fact that the young man had a serious crush on her. She never crossed the line to impropriety, but she spent extra time with him to encourage him to complete his work for other classes. While she graded papers after school, he would keep her company doing homework. The end result was that his grades in his senior classes were the best of his four years in high school. She heard other teachers discussing a change in his attitude. They saw less defiance, less substance abuse and he didn't cut class as often. She often wondered if her efforts had made any lasting impression on the troubled boy.

Rubirosa came away from the school with an image of an angry, withdrawn and rebellious boy with a disinterested father and an overwhelmed mother who somehow inspired concern from dedicated teachers. His older brother had left a legacy Bobby had no intention of following, but the tides had somehow turned in their early adult years. The evidence was painting an interesting picture of the man they were prosecuting, and she found herself unwillingly developing a sympathy for Goren. The road to his current situation had been very rocky, with few smooth patches and every indication it was going to continue to get worse for him.

She wondered what Green and Lupo had found out in their canvass of the neighborhood where the brothers were raised. Would anyone remember two boys who lived there nearly three decades ago? How much of an impression would they have left on a neighborhood that had gone on living long after they'd left to make their mark in the world? More importantly, would any of those recollections be what Jack was looking for, and how reliable would the witnesses be in court?

The question of abuse that Jack had raised seemed more likely now that she had more information, and she was anxious to get back to the office to see what the medical records would reveal. But would a childhood of abuse be enough to convince a jury that Goren had what it took to commit the murder he was accused of? She had no doubt that Jack would find what he needed to convince them, and it disturbed her that she was feeling troubled by that scenario.

* * *

Green and Lupo entered the garage and looked around. There was one car in each of three bays, and in the furthest bay, a mechanic was bent over the engine, engrossed in his work. As they approached, Green called out to him. "Mr. Ruzicki?"

A head popped up from where it hovered near the air filter. "Yes?"

Holding out his badge, Green said, "Detectives Green and Lupo. May we have a word with you?"

"About what?"

"You grew up in the same neighborhood as Frank and Robert Goren. We were informed that you were friends with them, and that's what we'd like to discuss with you."

Lewis set his wrench on the air filter and straightened up out of the engine. He motioned for the two detectives to follow him and led them into the small cramped office where he took care of the boring end of his business. He sat behind his desk and looked at Green and Lupo, waiting. Green began, "Were you friends with the Goren boys?"

"We all hung out together, but I was always friends with Bobby. Frank was a couple of years older and once he started high school, he didn't come around us much any more."

"What do you know about their home life?"

Lewis was suspicious and he decided to err on the side of caution. Frank must be in trouble again. "Their old man left in 1972, but he came around from time to time, usually when their mom was sick. Once Frank became a teenager, he started hanging around with his dad more and more. That probably wasn't the best thing in the world for him. What exactly are you looking for, detectives?"

"Information about their home life."

"Why?"

"It's part of an investigation we're conducting."

"What kind of investigation?"

Lupo replied, "Just answer our questions, Mr. Ruzicki, please. The nature of the investigation isn't particularly relevant to you."

"And if I choose to ask you to leave my shop?"

Lupo shrugged. "You can answer us now or the DA in two weeks."

Lewis was quiet for a moment before he replied, "Their home life sucked. Their mom was sick and their dad was gone a lot. After the old man left, she got worse."

"And the boys suffered for it?"

"Bobby bore the brunt of it. Frank was home less and less as he got older, and it fell to Bobby to take care of his mom."

Green asked, "Were they troublemakers?"

Lewis shrugged. "As much as any teenagers, I guess. Their dad started taking Frank with him to the track and to play poker. That was the beginning of a long, slow descent to the bottom for him."

"And his brother?"

"Bobby and I would score some beer and get trashed on Friday and Saturday nights, and sometimes during the week. We'd smoke pot and get into some mischief, but nothing horrible. We stole a car once...never made that mistake again."

"The cops set you straight?"

"No. They brought us home and let our folks deal with us. I got grounded for a month. Bobby got worse."

"Worse than being grounded for a month?"

"It upset his mom so bad she had an episode and they had to call his dad back from one of his business trips because Bobby was fifteen. His dad...was really pissed."

Lupo and Green looked at each other, wondering about Lewis' reluctance to disclose the information they needed. "And?" Green encouraged. "He got grounded for two months?"

"That would have been better than the beating he got. Bobby was big by then, starting to muscle out, too. He was a good two inches taller than his dad, and broader. The old man got out a bat, and he told the paramedics a gang of street kids got him. That gang of street kids picked on Bobby a hell of a lot. It was worse when the old man was drunk, which was a lot. His mom tried to protect him when he was little, but that never turned out well for her and eventually she quit trying, and he was on his own after that." He shifted in his seat. "She got in her share of beatings, too...when she became delusional and thought he was, uh, out to get her. He got a lot of demons beat out of him, and even more beat in. Frank got beat, too, but never as bad."

"Why do you think that was?" Green asked, his voice soft and encouraging.

"Because Frank was the good kid, with the good grades and all. Bobby was really smart, but he used to screw off a lot. He was bored in school, so he wouldn't apply himself. He would rather cut class to hang out in Seaview Park with his girlfriend and a six pack or a couple of joints than sit in history class and hear about things he already knew." He frowned and his voice grew bitter. "Frank was always her favorite, but it was Bobby who always took care of her. Frank became his father's son, and Bobby always got the short end of it. Life ain't fair, and that was a hard lesson he learned early on."

Lupo took up the questioning again. "Are you still friends?"

"Yeah. I haven't seen Frank for years, but I'm still friends with Bobby."

"And he's still a screw-up?"

Lewis' face darkened. "I never said he was one, detective. He straightened his life out after college. He went into the Army, and when he came home, he was...different."

"Different how?"

"Just...different. More responsible with his life. After ten years with the Army's CID, he got serious about things. He found his place in life as a cop. He had a really rocky start, but he turned out good."

"When did you see him last?"

"At his mom's funeral in August. He called me last month but we haven't had a chance to get together. He's going to help me restore a Camaro in the spring."

Green and Lupo looked at each other before Green nodded and said, "Thank you for your time, Mr. Ruzicki. We'll be in touch if we need anything more."

Lewis watched them leave as he leaned back in his chair. Once they were gone, he picked up the phone.

* * *

When Eames returned to Goren's apartment, he was still on the couch, watching the ceiling fan blades spin in lazy circles. "Are you all right?" she asked as she hung her jacket by the door.

"My life," he said bitterly. "Is under a microscope. They went to Lewis' shop and questioned him about Frank and me, about our childhood."

She wondered why he was surprised, but decided against asking him. Instead she said, "Dennis Bergeron is convinced you were his wife's lover."

"I told you, Eames, I haven't seen her for years, and I never slept with her."

"Don't snap at me," she replied. "I never said I didn't believe you. I'm just telling you what Bergeron believes, and what he is going to testify to on the stand. Do you recall ever meeting him?"

"No. Lori never introduced us. I wouldn't know him if I ran over him."

"And yet he claims to have identified you sitting in a diner downtown with Lori. Logan and I want to try bringing you together next week to see how he reacts when he sees you."

He thought about that for a moment. "What is he like?"

"Nice man. Made me want to smack some sense into him. He's a real jerk, Bobby. He didn't seem to mind talking to Logan, but I was beneath him and it took an effort he almost didn't have to belittle himself into talking to me. He told Mike that he demanded that Lori end her affair with you and then he would inform her about how she could make it up to him. He's absolutely convinced you killed her in a jealous rage when she tried to break it off with you."

He ran a hand over his face. "That would indicate a level of emotional involvement that I don't have with anyone."

That statement made her sad but she chased it off. "He is convinced you raped her, then killed her."

He frowned and looked at her. "But...they told me the ME said she wasn't raped."

"That was the initial finding. Actually, it was inconclusive at first...because of..damage to the area."

"So she was..." He trailed off, deeply disturbed.

"Look, Bobby, we know you didn't do it..."

"No, we don't, Eames. We presume I didn't do it. Nothing has been proven."

She studied him for a moment. "You'll make a hell of a witness for the prosecution, do you know that?"

He looked at her, and after a moment, he gave her a small smile. "Sorry. It's been a long week."

She sat down in the easy chair near the couch. "I know it has. Mr. Moredock should probably talk to Lewis."

"Probably."

"I talked to him on the way back over here."

"Lewis?"

"No. Mr. Moredock. The prosecution has begun disclosure. Three boxes of files arrived at his office this afternoon, including your IAB and personnel files. He has a lot to review."

"I never claimed to be perfect."

She shook her head. "No. It's annoying enough that you're always right without being perfect on top of it."

He smiled again, wondering for the millionth time since they had become partners what he would do without her. He needed her, and yet, his desire to protect her tended to drive her away. It was a meticulous balance that he had lost the ability to maintain. Yet, here she was, fighting for his life. He knew as well as she did that if he went to prison, he would never serve his sentence. Odds were that within six months, he would be dead.


	6. To Be A Friend

Connie Rubirosa got out of her car and looked at the sign on the building. _Lewis' Auto Body._ Green and Lupo said the man was very suspicious, reluctant to say much. She hoped he would talk to her. The smell of grease and gasoline permeated the interior of the building. There were three cars in the shop, and she followed the noise she heard to the furthest bay. "Mr. Ruzicki?"

Lewis looked up from the engine with a frown. He studied her with a critical eye before finally speaking. "If you're here to talk to me about Bobby Goren, I already told the police everything I have to say."

"I'm not the police. I'm from the DA's office. There are some matters of clarification I would like to discuss with you."

"I'm not interested."

"But I am, Mr. Ruzicki. The more you cooperate with me now, the less likely it will be that you'll have to shut down your shop for several days to meet with us and testify. Cooperate now, and all you should miss will be part of a day."

Lewis' eyes narrowed. "Don't threaten me, lady lawyer." He straightened up and stepped away from the car, a red mustang. He cleaned his hands on a rag and pointed a finger at her. "I've known Bobby since kindergarten. You don't know him. He's one of the good guys. He didn't do what you think he did. He couldn't; he knew that lady. Bobby'd never hurt a woman, much less kill her. You're so far off the mark here, you're in another state."

"Prove that to me. I want to talk to ex-girlfriends about his behavior toward them before and after their relationships with him."

"You're fishing in barren waters," he commented as he crossed the shop to his office.

"Like all good fishermen, we have to keep trying."

He frowned as he picked up a pen and flipped past the first few sheets of a pad of paper on his desk. "Bobby's a very private person. He's not prone to share details of his private life with anyone, not even his closest friends. I know a couple of girls he dated back in high school and a few women he's seen in the last few years, but it's not by any means an all-inclusive list. I don't think he's seeing anyone now. As a matter of fact, I don't think he's seen anyone since his mom got sick with cancer, which was a year-and-a-half, maybe two years ago."

Rubirosa frowned. "Really? I would think that would be the time he needed someone most."

Lewis stopped writing and looked up at her. "See? You don't know him. Bobby's an intense guy. He tends to focus all his energy in one direction, and he has a lot of trouble dividing it. It was very hard for him to lose his mother, but it was a relief, too. He could go back to putting everything into the job. It's hard for him to maintain a relationship and do his job, and it's always the relationship that suffers. They never last. Women don't understand the way he is. You'll see what I mean when you talk to them. He tries; he really does. But in the end, he'd rather chase bad guys than put the effort into a long-term relationship. He's not capable of doing both."

He went back to his list as Rubirosa mulled over his words. Finally, he ripped off the sheet of paper. "That's all I can remember. Now I would appreciate it if you people would leave me alone."

She took the paper from him. "Thank you, Mr. Ruzicki. It's never an easy thing when good cops go bad."

Lewis' eyes blazed with open anger and hostility. "He _is_ a good cop, and he hasn't gone bad. Maybe it's your job to bring him down, but I've known him for forty years. He had a rough start in life, but he turned out good. Open your eyes and you'll see that." He got up from the desk and walked past her, opening the door for her. "I have work to do."

She stepped past him out of the office, and he watched her leave. He debated calling Bobby to let him know about the encounter, but decided against it. He'd gotten very upset the last time he called. Maybe later he'd call Eames and give her a heads up. She was better able to judge when the right time to tell him would be. At least someone was watching out for Bobby.

He went back to the red mustang and grabbed the wrench he'd been using. As he leaned back into the engine, he reflected about what a nightmare this must be for his friend. Life wasn't always fair, but it sure seemed to beat up on some people more than others. All he could do was hope that, once again, Bobby would come out on top.

* * *

Eames set the table and dished out the meal she'd made. Knowing he had a preference for Italian, she fixed fettuccine alfredo with asparagus in a wine sauce. She preferred his cooking, but he had a lot on his mind and the last thing she was going to do was be any kind of burden to him. So she had been doing the cooking, which he seemed to appreciate. She was fairly certain that if she was not there, he would not be eating at all.

Ross was letting her work with Logan for the time being, giving them time to pursue the Hodges investigation while he and Wheeler worked the case that would have been theirs. Ross deflected the chief's curiosity with the skill of a master and a little help from Moran's assistant, who was a friend of Goren's and firmly in his corner. The captain was impressed with the caliber of friends Goren chose. It was a short list, but they were loyal. He heard from van Buren how reluctant his mechanic friend in Long Island City was to cooperate with her detectives. He wondered if Jack McCoy was having any better luck, and he found himself hoping he wasn't. He wanted this nightmare to be over, so Goren and Eames could go back to doing their jobs. As unconventional and difficult as Goren could be, he did his job incredibly well and Ross missed having him around.

Eames was glad Ross was giving her and Logan as much leeway as he could while they investigated the Hodges murder. Logan was good at dodging Green and Lupo and maintaining a low profile. After talking to Bergeron the night before, she felt her optimism flag, though not because she questioned Goren's innocence. Bergeron might be a jerk, but he was an upstanding member of society and would make an excellent witness for the prosecution, unless they found some way to discredit his testimony. She hoped bringing him and Goren together would do that.

Three days, she and Logan agreed, would be plenty of time for Goren to prepare himself to face his accuser. Logan had called Bergeron to request a meeting late Thursday at a diner near the courthouse. Knowing she and Logan would be questionable witnesses, she arranged for Ross and Moredock to be there, as well as Connie Rubirosa, the ADA assigned to the case. She was not going to risk losing this evidence on a technicality. She was relieved that Rubirosa was willing to witness the encounter.

"Dinner," she called as she set a glass of wine at her place and a bottle of beer at his.

She wasn't surprised when he didn't answer. She was used to his forays into himself, but he was spending more and more time in his head lately. She understood that. He was trying to get a grip on his own emotions as well as trying to figure out who could have killed Lori Hodges. He really didn't have much to sink his teeth into, and that only added to his frustration. She did her best to give him the stability he craved, but it wasn't easy. He was becoming more and more unsettled as the prosecution dove deeper into his past, and she didn't quite understand why. She knew he valued his privacy, but this seemed to be more than that. She wondered if he was afraid that if she knew more about him, she'd turn tail and run. She knew that she never would, but she was at a loss to find a way to reassure him about it.

He was sitting on the couch, his head propped on his hand, elbow resting on the arm of the couch. She approached and ran her hand through his hair. He looked up at her as she repeated, "Dinner's ready."

He nodded and got up from the couch. After washing up, he joined her at the table. "I, uh, I appreciate what you've done for me, Eames."

She set a basket of rolls on the table. "I know you do. I'm glad I was done early enough tonight to make a decent meal."

He pushed his fork through his pasta. "Wouldn't you rather...be in your own home?"

"At this point, no. I would rather be with you."

He watched her take a bite of her meal and asked, "Why?"

As she finished chewing and washed it down with a drink of wine, she watched him. He was honestly perplexed. When her mouth was empty, she gave him a simple answer. "Because you need me."

If he thought to object, he didn't, and he didn't argue with her. He diverted his eyes to his plate and said no more. She sighed. He was becoming more withdrawn and she did not like that at all. "The DA's office agreed to send someone to the diner to witness the meeting with Dennis Bergeron."

He nodded. "That will be a good witness. You, Logan and Ross are prejudiced. When Bergeron realizes who I am, he's not going to be happy. He'll say he was tricked, but the prosecutor will see that he wasn't."

"You have Bergeron pegged, don't you?"

He nodded. "That took no real effort. It's the killer I can't get a handle on."

She took another drink, trying not to notice he'd eaten little but he'd finished his beer. "Maybe you're trying too hard."

He shrugged. "Maybe."

"Please eat."

When she took her empty plate to the sink, she poured another glass of wine and retrieved another beer for him. Setting the bottle in front of his plate, she lowered herself into the chair beside him. "It's not hopeless," she said softly. "You always had faith in our justice system. Where did that faith go?"

"Sometimes, the system fails. There's a lot of stuff in my past that will...throw up red flags, maybe...prejudice a jury. McCoy will capitalize on that. He's a smart prosecutor, and he's sly. He'll do whatever he has to do to win the case. My past will give him plenty of ammunition."

"Come on, Bobby. What could you have done that's so bad?"

He took a few more bites of his dinner, and she recognized it for the stall tactic it was. Letting it slide, she waited patiently.

He finished about three-quarters of his meal before pushing his plate away. "It was good, Eames. You're a good cook."

"You're better. Now answer me."

He drained the beer and got up from the table, taking his plate to the sink. She heard running water and the clatter of dishes, and she knew he was washing them. A combination of stalling and responsibility. He rarely left any dishes for her to do. When he came out of the kitchen, he had another beer, and he walked into the living room with it. She watched him sit in the center of the long couch, leaning forward to prop his arms on his knees and dangle the bottle from his fingers. She waited.

"I suppose you're going to find out one way or another." He shook his head. "I had...a hard childhood. I got into a lot of trouble. I never applied myself, not like my brother did. My father had no patience for me, and neither did my mother, after she got sick. I did a lot of things...th-things I'm not proud of. I have no right to ask, but please, don't judge me too harshly."

"You were a kid. Kids do stupid things. Look at you now, and look at your brother. Who's the screw-up?"

He turned his head to look at her. "The addict or the killer?"

"Stop it right now, Goren. You did not kill that woman and we both know it."

"Whether I did or didn't, I very well might do the time."

Eames sat beside him and looked at him with a critical eye. His sleep was sporadic and disturbed, and it showed. "Harboring a defeatist attitude is not going to help either of us. We're working on it, Bobby. The truth is going to come out, one way or another. Have faith. I do."

"Faith...Do you have any idea how hard that is for me?"

"Yes, I do. But if you trust me, then that's all the faith you need."

He leaned back and took a drink. "I want this all to just go away."

"I'm with you there. But it's not going to just go away. So we have to face it head on and deal with it, like any threat. We'll be okay, Bobby. Trust me."

He rested his head back and looked toward the ceiling. "I do."

She understood his pessimism. Life had not cut him too many breaks. She chose, however, to remain silent. Instead, she reached her hand toward him, slowly. When her fingers touched his temple, he tensed, almost as though he expected her to strike him. Surprised when he did not object, she gently caressed his hair and he began to relax. After a moment, his eyes closed. She took the beer from his hands and set it on the coffee table; he did not protest. After a few minutes of running her fingers lightly through his hair, she slid her hand along the back of his head and gently applied pressure from the other side. He resisted, but only for a moment. As soon as he stopped fighting, giving in to her, she guided his head down into her lap. Placing one hand on his chest, she continued to stroke his hair with the other.

Gradually, his breathing got slower and deeper. When she was certain he was well asleep, she reached for the remote on the end table beside her and began to channel surf. She continued stroking his hair as she watched television, reassured by the comforting throb of the heart that beat beneath her other hand.

That afternoon she'd had lunch with one of the crime scene techs who often worked with them. It had taken a little sweet talking, but he had given her copies of the crime scene photographs and reports and well as the ME's report. He warned of the trouble he could get into giving her what she requested, and she'd promised no one would ever hear it from her. In an empty conference room, she and Logan had gone over every detail. She was having an impossible time reconciling the brutality of that crime scene with the gentle man she knew, the partner and friend she'd come to love. He was not prone to jealous rages, and even deep in the grip of fury born of frustration, he would never harm a living soul. The man who had shown mercy to John Tagman would never have taken Lori Hodges' life.

She and Logan were going to go over the crime scene evidence with Goren the next day, and in the afternoon, she and Goren would meet with Moredock. She was going to send Logan to talk to Lewis. Once he knew that Logan was Bobby's friend, working to clear him, he would talk openly. There were questions they needed answers to, and Goren was not going to be forthcoming with those answers. Things that were not in his records might come to light and she did not want them to be caught unprepared. They needed details of the childhood he refused to discuss.

A few hours later, when she felt herself begin to nod off, she gently slid from beneath his head, slipping a pillow from the far end of the couch beneath it for support. She covered him with a blanket and kissed his temple lightly. Switching off the light, she walked down the hall to the bedroom to sleep. Every day was a long day and she expected to see no improvement in the near future. Her partner's fate was largely in her hands, and she had no intention of letting him down. Too many people had done that to him, and she would not be one. It was a promise she swore she was going to keep, no matter what.

* * *

**A/N: Well, I had another chapter of _Explosion Proof_ almost ready when I realized I skipped a chapter, dang it. So I decided to post this while I work on the missing chapter of that. And for those of you following _Heart of A Lion_, I messed up and am going to have to revise the story. I'm working on that, too.**


	7. A Disturbing Revelation

Goren woke the next morning to a knocking on the door. He got up from the couch, not surprised to find Logan standing in the hallway, grinning. "Look what the cat dragged in."

"Shut up, Logan," Goren snapped, turning back into the apartment.

With a laugh, Logan followed. "Where's Eames?"

"Still sleeping. She said she doesn't have to go into the squad room today."

Logan held up a stack of files in his right hand. "Nope. Work's here this morning. She sweet-talked the crime scene reports out of one of the guys. Gotta love a girl who knows what she wants and goes after it."

Goren looked down the hall toward his bedroom. "Yes," he answered simply. Waving a hand, he added, "Make yourself at home."

Logan watched him walk down the hall and turn into the bathroom. He went into the kitchen and started the coffee. By the time the pot was done brewing, Goren was back. Logan watched him open the refrigerator and hesitate, then pull out a carton of eggs and a tub of butter. Logan knew he hadn't gone into the refrigerator for eggs, and he quietly said, "Good choice, man."

Goren set the eggs on the counter and retrieved a frying pan from the cabinet beside the stove. Logan waited while he scrambled half a dozen eggs and dished them out, adding toast to each plate. "Got ham?" he asked.

Goren shrugged. "Take a look. Eames did the shopping the day...uh, the day I got arrested."

Logan looked in the refrigerator, grabbing a package of ham. "How are you holding up?"

"Not so well. I still...don't remember what happened that night."

Logan nodded, understanding how that would frustrate him. "Kinda unsettling when that brain lets you down, isn't it?" Goren nodded and Logan added, "I am glad I woke you, though."

"Why?"

"Because it means you slept. Did Eames drug you?"

Goren looked at him with a soft laugh. "Not quite."

Logan smiled. "Good for her. You look better."

He didn't feel any better, but acknowledged Logan with a brief nod and a murmured, "Thanks."

They heard a noise in the living room and turned toward the doorway as Eames appeared. She looked from one man to the other and smiled. "Good morning, boys."

Goren offered her a plate. "Breakfast?"

Her smile widened. "Thank you."

"Sit down. I'll get your coffee."

"Better watch it. You'll spoil me."

He lightly bit his lower lip and said, "Someone should."

Logan cleared his throat. "Did I miss something here?"

"No," Goren answered, thrusting a plate at him and turning toward the coffee pot.

They spent the morning reviewing the crime scene reports and other evidence. Eames noticed no improvement in her partner's demeanor or his optimism. He read the primary crime scene report with interest, and then he got to the medical examiner's report. He read it, and then he read it again. Eames reached over and gently took it from his hands. He met her eyes, and she was deeply disturbed by what she saw there. "You didn't..." she began.

He shook his head. "I wish I knew that for certain."

"_I _know it for certain," she insisted.

He shrugged off her confidence. "Either way...I _knew _her, Eames. Whether I did it or not, I was there when it happened, and I obviously did nothing to save her. That makes me just as guilty."

Logan interruped the disagreement. "You don't remember what happened, so you can't say you did nothing. Someone beat the shit out of you, and that tells me you tried to save her. Now shut up about this 'as guilty' shit, because if McCoy gets wind of it, he'll capitalize on it and then _I'll_ hurt you."

Eames gave him a smile of gratitude and moved the autopsy report and crime scene photos of Lori out of Goren's line of vision, but she could not erase the images from his mind.

* * *

Logan entered Lewis' shop and looked around. Taking a deep breath, he smiled. He liked the smell of automotive grease. He saw the mechanic working on a red Mustang in the furthest bay, but his attention was drawn to the blue '67 Corvette in the bay next to it.

"Sweet ride," he commented as he stopped in front of it.

Lewis looked up at him, eyes filled with suspicion. "Can I help you?"

Logan flashed his badge. "My name's Logan. I..."

Lewis raised his hand, cutting him off. "Look, I have said everything I am going to say about Bobby Goren. You need anything else, find it out from some other source. I'm done talking. And don't threaten me either. If I have to shut down for a week or a month, I got a buddy to cover my work. So you can take your badge and your questions and leave my shop."

"Threaten you? Who threatened you?"

The question caught Lewis off guard. "Uh...it was a lady from the DA's office. She said I'd have to shut down for a week to come in for questioning and to testify if I didn't talk to her."

"Who else has been bothering you?"

Lewis frowned, uncertain. "Um...a couple of detectives came in a day or two before the lady lawyer. They said, um...how did they word it...uh, the nature of their investigation was not particularly relevant to me. But they wanted me to answer their questions just the same."

Logan came around and leaned against the fender of the Corvette. "I'm a friend of Bobby's. Alex Eames and I are working with his lawyer to put together some kind of defense. Problem is, Bobby's not any help. He doesn't remember what happened that night. Yesterday he told Alex there's some stuff in his past that won't put him in a real good place with a jury, but he won't tell her what. We're hoping you can help us out."

Lewis was still suspicious. "I really don't want to talk to any more cops or lawyers. I've said everything I'm gonna say."

Logan understood exactly how he felt, and he got why the man was being cautious. "Lewis, we gotta be prepared for anything the prosecution can throw at us."

"If you're working for the DA, I could be sealing Bobby's fate. No, sir. His juvenile record is sealed and so is my mouth."

Pulling out his phone, Logan tossed it to Lewis. "Call him. I've got nothing to hide."

Lewis hesitated before dialing Bobby's number. Logan leaned down into the Corvette and examined its interior while Lewis talked to his lifelong friend. When a hand touched his back, he pulled out of the vehicle and turned to face the mechanic, who handed him his phone. He stuffed a rag into his back pocket and said, "All right, Detective Logan. Let's talk."

Logan grinned. "Call me Mike."

With a half-smile, Logan followed him into the office. Lewis opened a small refrigerator and took out two cans of cola, handing one to Logan. Then he sat in his chair and looked at the cop. "What do you want to know?"

"You said his juvenile record is sealed. McCoy is good at getting access to sealed files, even ones thirty years old. Tell me what's in that file that could come around now to bite him in the ass."

Lewis let out a heavy sigh and spun a pen on the desk in front of him. "When we were juniors, Bobby fell in with a really bad crowd. I mean he and I would drink on weekends, and we'd smoke pot and stuff. We stole a car when we were fifteen, for a thrill. We got caught, but nothing came of it. The guy cut us a break. I got grounded; Bobby got a beating with a baseball bat. But there was no record of it. Then he got involved with that other crowd. He didn't have anything much to do with me for about six months. I know they were into more than just weed, but I can't say for certain what Bobby was into, if anything. He'd have to tell you that. They were older than we were, and they were dealing in the schools and on the streets...but I never, ever knew him to deal. Ever. Use, maybe. Deal, no."

"Did you ever wonder why he got involved with that crowd?"

"All the time. So when he started hanging with me again, I asked him. He said it was because he was bored." Lewis smiled affectionately. "It was always a dangerous thing when Bobby got bored."

Logan laughed. "I don't guess that's changed a whole lot, has it?"

"No. Not really."

"So am I correct in assuming that he got in trouble with that group of kids?"

"Oh, he got in big trouble." Lewis shifted uncomfortably."One night, he and a couple of other guys broke into a home in Kensington. The other guys were after money and jewelry they could sell for drugs. Bobby was along for the excitement of breaking into a house. If he'd done it before, he didn't get caught, but this time things went bad. The homeowner confronted them, and he was killed." He raised a hand. "Bobby had nothing to do with that guy getting whacked, but unfortunately, he was there. After he was arrested, his old man bailed him out. I never felt worse for Bobby than I did that weekend. It was a bad scene. Real bad."

Logan nodded. "I get it. I've been there."

Lewis studied Logan for a moment before continuing. "Bobby had nothing to do with the guy's death, but he was implicated. He was also 2 or 3 years younger than the guys he was with, and the DA offered him a deal. In exchange for his testimony, he got probation and his record was sealed when he turned 18. He never had to do time, but he still carries around the guilt for what happened that night. He never really talked to me about it, except to say he played no part in killing the guy, but he wasn't able to stop them either. He tried, and they tried to kill him, too. That's all he ever told me."

Logan pinched the bridge of his nose. "That's some serious shit."

"Yeah. I'll level with you, Mike. If it wasn't for the Army, he would have wound up in jail, or dead. He liked the challenge of the CID unit, but it wasn't until he got stationed in Korea and met Declan Gage that he really found his place in the world."

"Is there anything else we should know about?"

"That was the biggest trouble he got in. I don't know what else you're looking for."

Logan took a drink of his cola and looked at Lewis. "Let's talk about the family..."

* * *

Barry Moredock's office was a large, comfortable room, with leather chairs and lots of wood. Eames looked around as they entered the inner sanctum of the lawyer's practice. "A man must live here," she said with a smirk.

Moredock laughed and looked at Goren. "I like her spunk," he said.

"So do I," Goren responded.

"You're very fortunate," the lawyer added. "This little lady has been in your corner from the start,"

Goren looked at her. "I am fortunate," he agreed.

Eames gave him a brief smile as they sat around a knee-high table in the center of the room, but he did not return it. This entire ordeal, Eames reflected, had turned her already serious partner grim.

Moredock motioned to the stacks of files and papers on the table. "You have kept me very busy, Robert," he commented, splaying his hand over the stack closest to him.

Goren shifted in his chair. "Uh, I..."

The lawyer waved a hand. "Forget it. Fortunately, or maybe not, this will not be an open-and-shut case for either side. There is a lot here...but nothing violent. In spite of your past and your chosen career, there is no indication you are a violent man."

"That's because he's not," Eames replied.

"Jack McCoy will try to refute that aspect of your character."

Goren waved his arm. "Whatever. I've resigned myself to this fiasco becoming an assault on my character. My main concern...is how do we refute the evidence?"

Moredock smiled. "That's not our job. All the evidence does is place you at the scene. It doesn't put that knife in your hand. It's the prosecution's job to do that. All we have to do is convince the jury that someone else could have done it. If we find the man who left that third set of prints in Lori's bedroom, we find not only her killer, but her lover."

"Is that all?" Goren shook his head. "McCoy isn't interested in finding someone else. He has me and he thinks I'm good for it. That's all he needs."

Moredock smiled. "Jack thinks he's on solid ground. Let's shake up his world a little, shall we?"

Eames looked interested. "What do you have in mind, Mr. Moredock?"

He gave her a broad smile and reached for a file. "Jack hates pretrial motions," he said with a laugh as he opened the file. "What say was bury him..."

* * *

Kenny Moran hesitated in the doorway to Ross' office after confronting the captain with the evidence that implicated Goren in the Hodges murder. Ross accused him of editing the whole picture and Moran turned to leave in anger. He looked over his shoulder. "Remember what I told you about misfits, Danny? Just because you inherited them doesn't mean you have to keep them. Logan still has a home on Staten Island and it looks like Goren is going to have one at Riker's."

He turned and stormed through the squad room. Ross was livid as he chased after the chief. "Explain to me why the men you call misfits have the best solve rate in my squad," he demanded.

Moran turned on him. "Are you challenging me, captain?"

"Yes, chief. I am. Logan doesn't belong on Staten Island and Goren certainly does not belong at Rikers."

Moran thrust his finger in Ross' face and growled, "He does if he killed that woman."

Ross' eyes narrowed. "Get your finger out of my face, and this won't get ugly. I'll bet my pension on that man's innocence."

Moran glared at him. "Count yourself lucky I don't take you up on that bet, Danny."

He turned as the elevator doors opened and he entered the car. Ross turned and, as he headed back to his office, the only indication he gave of his anger was the set of his jaw and the fire that blazed in his green eyes.


	8. A Tender Interlude

Connie Rubirosa sat at her desk and rubbed her eyes. She was reviewing her notes from interviews with the women whose names she'd gotten from Lewis, and she found herself having doubts about the man they were prosecuting. The door opened and McCoy came into the room. "What do you have for me, Connie?"

"What are you looking for, Jack? Just what did you expect me to find when I talked with these women?"

"His breakup history...anger, lashing out, any sort of negative reaction."

Connie shook her head. "It's not there. He has very broad shoulders and a willingness to accept the blame when things go wrong. What you want is just not there. I found six women still in love with him, and every one of them would be willing to take him back if he would have them."

"So why did they leave him in the first place?"

"He never had time for them. There is no bitterness with these women, not even the ones I found that he dated in high school. Jack, he is not the man you want him to be. He's not a cop turned bad."

"Connie, we have a dead woman and Goren is our only suspect. If you think he's innocent, bring me the man who did it and I'll drop the charges against him. Until that happens, I am going to seek a conviction and he's going to prison."

"Even if he doesn't belong there? Be sure about this, Jack. He's a cop who's put away a lot of people. There won't be any going back and saying I'm sorry. If you get your conviction, you'll be signing this man's death warrant."

McCoy studied her. "Are you having second thoughts about this?"

"I am. I'm starting to think we've got the wrong man."

"We have an abused son of a mentally ill mother and an alcoholic father. He's an outcast among his peers."

Rubirosa shook her head. "He's a little odd, maybe, and misunderstood, perhaps, but he was raised by a schizophrenic mother. That alone can account for behavioral oddities, but it does not make him a criminal. He had a rocky start, but from everything I've seen, he straightened himself out."

McCoy raised his voice in frustration, trying to make her see his point. "He's been in and out of trouble his whole life. I just found out he has a sealed juvenile record and I am very interested to see what's in it. Judge Boucher signed the order this morning. The records will be here Monday. I don't think we have the wrong man."

"In and out of trouble, yes. But he's never been violent. This crime is out of character for him."

"He was drunk, Connie. That can change a man's character."

"I addressed that with these women. Every one of them assured me he's not a violent drunk. He gets quiet, a little more odd, maybe. But he never lashed out at any one of them, ever. Even during arguments. They said he tends to withdraw. It's a pattern set in his teen years that does not seem to have changed much."

McCoy's face was dark. "Let's see what his juvenile record shows." He became thoughtful. "A schizophrenic mother...maybe he got back at her for the beatings of his childhood. She won't be a reliable witness..."

"She won't be a witness at all. She died last year, at the Carmel Ridge Psychiatric Facility."

"Out of sight, out of mind? Go out there and see just what sort of son he was. I'll bet you dinner he either neglected her or abused her."

Rubirosa raised her hands, knowing she was not getting anywhere with him. Jack McCoy was a pit bull when it came to pursuing a suspect. He had his jaws locked around this one and he wasn't letting go.

* * *

New York. As he stepped outside the JFK terminal to hail a cab, he took a deep breath and eased out a sigh of contentment. He missed this city. A cabbie from the line by the curb approached him, and he nodded and indicated his bag. He wasn't sure how long he was going to stay, but a friend had called seeking help and he'd never been one to turn a deaf ear to a friend in need. Once settled in the back of the cab, Ron Carver gave the driver Jimmy Deakins' address and settled back for the ride.

* * *

The room was dark, except for the glow of the television set. Eames came down the hall after a long, hot shower and eased herself onto the couch beside Goren. Gently, she took the beer from his hand and took a drink before handing it back.

"Mr. Moredock is optimistic," she said, trying to keep her voice light and encouraging as she gently rubbed his arm.

He forced his attention to remain on the television. "That's his job."

"Actually, I think it's more his nature than his job. Maybe it would help if you were a little less morose."

"Forgive me if the prospect of spending the rest of my life at Rikers doesn't brighten my day." He leaned back and stared toward the ceiling. "I'll be honest with you, Eames. I'm not afraid of prison. I have spent my entire life in one personal prison or another. I won't insult your intelligence with platitudes. There are some things I'll regret, but not the loss of my personal freedom. I lost that a long time ago. I'm no idealist; I'm a realist. I'll miss going to Shea to watch the Mets play. Walking along the harbor path in Battery Park and watching the ships come and go. Watching kids on the playground in Central Park. Good beer and good scotch. Logan's stupid jokes. Being a cop. Sex." He let out a slow breath. "But most of all, I'll miss you."

"Bobby..."

He touched her thigh and she fell silent. "Best case scenario, I get twenty-five to life. My first chance at parole will be in twelve. I'll never live to see that. I've put a lot of bad men away, men who will find out pretty fast that I'm there. I won't make it the first year."

She took the beer away from him. "How many of these have you had?"

"Too many...and not enough."

Setting the beer on the coffee table, she moved closer to him. When she pressed into his side, he moved his arm and wrapped it around her. His fingers came to rest unexpectedly on her skin where her shirt rode up, but he didn't pull them away when she did not protest. Instead, he gently trailed his fingers across her skin above the waistband of her shorts. "Your skin...is soft," he murmured.

"Your fingers are gentle," she answered.

"I've heard that before."

He pulled her shirt down over her waistband and settled his hand on her hip. She felt equal measures of relief and disappointment. Laying her hand over his, she said, "Can I ask you something...personal?"

"Sure. Why not?"

She smiled. She hated that he seemed resigned to what he believed his fate would be and that he would not have faith in his own innocence. On the other hand, he seemed to be opening up to her more now than he ever had. She was going to take advantage of that. "When was the last time you had sex?"

Surprised, he lifted his head from the back of the couch and leaned forward a little to look at her face in the dim light. "What does that matter?"

"It doesn't. I'm just curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

She smiled. "Fortunately, I'm not a cat."

He laughed and leaned back again. "It was...before my mother got sick. I was too busy with her to...bother with anyone else."

"Including yourself."

"Yes."

She nodded at the admission. "And after she passed away?"

He shrugged. "No interest. What about you? How long has it been?"

She smiled. "That's fair. A couple of months."

"Didn't work out?"

"Ah...no. He read too much into it. I'm not looking for a serious relationship at this point."

"What _are_ you looking for?"

"Right now? I want to get you through this trial and back on the job."

"Suppose it doesn't turn out the way you want it to?"

She tightened her hand on his. "You get an appeal."

"I won't live that long. You know that."

"So you don't get convicted in the first place."

He laughed, which made her smile. "Which sleeve are you going to pull that one out of?"

Lightly, she stroked his arm."I don't have to be a magician; you didn't do it."

He pressed his cheek against the side of her head and whispered, "Prove it."

Impulsively, she turned her head, and her lips brushed his, then settled firmly against them. With a tilt of his head, he allowed her kiss. "P-Please..." he whispered when she broke the kiss.

"Are you...asking?" she wondered.

He gave it a moment of thought. He was and he wasn't. The word had simply slipped out of his mouth and he wasn't exactly sure what he'd meant. Continue? Or stop? But he would place no undue pressure on this woman. She'd done enough simply by believing in him. "N-No." He hesitated. "Are...are you offering?"

It was her turn to think. She would never have another chance like this. If she lied and denied it, the opportunity would slip into the shadows and never appear again. "Yes. I am."

He rubbed his forehead. "And what happens to us if I'm acquitted?"

She leaned forward and looked at him, a look of surprise and a soft smile on her face. "Did I just hear you correctly?"

Through half-closed eyes, he studied her and smiled, amused. "Touche, Eames. You found my Achilles heel."

"Sex?"

He caressed her cheek. "You." He reached for his beer and offered it to her, his voice soft. "Get drunk with me."

"So when you're acquitted..."

"...you have an out."

She took the beer and drank it. "Maybe I don't want an out."

Even in the dim light, she could see the heat in his eyes, and she felt the tension in his body. His voice reflected a combination of apprehension and anticipation. "Please...let me do this for you."

That was the only way he was going to let her do this for him. Making her decision, she leaned closer and gave him another kiss. "Get me another beer."


	9. A Defensible Past

Goren folded his arms beneath his head as he lay on the couch, lost in the memory of what had transpired a few hours ago. Once Eames had drifted to sleep, he'd gotten out of the bed and come out onto the couch. It was bad enough that he'd accepted what she had to offer, that he'd wanted, needed that from her. If they woke in each other's arms, it would further complicate an already difficult situation. He had no desire to cause her any more pain than he had to.

He felt a heavy burden of guilt over what had happened. The few beers she'd had were enough to allow her to back out gracefully, saving them both more unnecessary pain. But they had not been enough to temper her response to him. His body reacted to the memory and he wished his memory would fail him now. The truth of the matter was he had not had enough to drink either, and he'd loved her as though it came from his heart and not from pure physical need for release. From his heart...dear God...he'd not been pretending. It _had_ come from his heart. But she could never know that. She had to believe it was what he needed and not what he wanted as well. He had to let her go as gently as he could. But he would take the memory of that night with him to his grave, however soon that would be.

He grabbed a pack of cigarettes from the coffee table and shook one out. Sticking the cigarette in his mouth, he lit it and took a deep drag. _It would help if you were a little less morose._ How could he help it? He'd been through the evidence. If he were in Green and Lupo's place, he would be convinced, too, of his guilt. It would be a different story, perhaps, if he could recall what had transpired that night. _Traumatic amnesia._ But what trauma? The head injury he did not remember getting? Or the trauma associated with the murder? He agreed with Eames on only one point. He did not think his was the hand that took Lori's life. But he had no starting point, beyond a few smudged partials, to pursue who had. Dennis swore she was having an affair with him. He would definitely know if he was having an affair with his old friend, and he wasn't. Green and Lupo had been unable to corroborate Dennis' claim with any of Lori's friends. None of them knew him. But that did not keep McCoy from jumping on the husband's bandwagon and asserting he had killed her in a jealous rage when she broke off the affair. McCoy's theory might be right on the money, but he had the wrong lover, and thus the wrong murderer.

But there was one aspect of that night he could not get past, and it was that one point of contention that kept him mired in morosity. He did not kill Lori, but he was there when she was killed. That had brought flashbacks of a time he did remember, another murder he could not prevent. For thirty years he'd carried that guilt, buried deep, but now it resurfaced, compounding his current emotional state. Whoever killed Lori, for whatever reason, he had not stopped him. He raised his hand to the still healing injury on the side of his head. He'd not said a word about the residual headaches that sometimes cropped up, centered on that injury. It would finish healing and the headaches would go away; they were getting better. He was convinced that, in the long run, it wasn't going to matter anyway. McCoy would win his conviction, whether he believed in his own innocence or not, and he would live out the last weeks or months of his life at Rikers. It wasn't hard to resign himself to his fate. What was hard was seeing what all this was doing to his partner. Her pain compounded his guilt. For her sake, he would do whatever he could to prove his innocence, but he was not optimistic. McCoy was dismissing the notion of a third party entirely, and he had no proof to the contrary. Those partials could have been left by a plumber or a housekeeper days or weeks before. The fact that, on some level, he knew that was not the case did not amount to any kind of proof.

The sun had come up when he was roused from his thoughts by a knock at the door. With a weary yawn, he got up from the couch and opened the door. Logan grinned at him. "Rise and shine."

"Oh, shut up," Goren grumbled as he turned away from the door and went back to the couch.

"Hey, I wouldn't be here so early if you'd answer your damn phone."

Goren looked toward the coffee table, not sure exactly where his phone was. "Uh, is there a problem?"

"You may think so. Moredock called me when he couldn't get in touch with you or Alex." He hesitated for a moment before he continued. "McCoy found out about your sealed juvenile record. The judge signed the order to release it and he'll have it early next week."

The color drained from Goren's face and he leaned back where he sat. Logan sat beside him. "Lewis told me what happened."

Goren frowned darkly. "He shouldn't have. He's never done that before."

"Bobby, we need to know about it."

Neither of them noticed that Eames had entered the room. "Know about what?"

Goren looked up at her, a fleeting look of panic flashing across his face. It vanished as quickly as it appeared. When he remained silent, Logan said, "He's got a sealed juvenile record. Another couple of days and McCoy will have it."

Her face clouded with concern. "Is it something he can use?"

Logan nodded. "Oh, yeah. Big time. This would have blind-sided Moredock. He's gotta know about it, and he needs to hear it from you, Bobby."

Eames glared at him. "How did you find out about it, Mike?"

"When I talked to Lewis yesterday, he told me about it."

Eames crossed the room and sat at Goren's other side. Turning sideways on the couch so that she was fully facing him, she laid a gentle hand on his thigh. "Talk to me," she encouraged.

"I told you there were things in my past that McCoy will see as a home run for his case."

"And this?"

"This...this is a grand slam."

She shifted closer and leaned in. "Bobby, you were a kid. All kids make mistakes, some worse than others." She raised a hand to his cheek, not caring that Logan was there. Goren closed his eyes as she implored, "You asked me not to judge you. I won't. Tell me what happened."

Logan did not react to the familiarity Eames was showing Goren. He responded to it, and that was all that mattered at the moment. He had Lewis' perspective on what happened but only Goren had the full story. They needed to hear from him what had happened.

Eames withdrew her hand from his cheek and wrapped it around his hand. Needing the contact, he closed his fingers around hers. "I turned sixteen the summer before I started my junior year in high school. I was bored with everything...school, friends, home. Frank was in his second year of college and I missed him. We'd grown apart, but he was my brother, and my mother missed him. Her schizophrenia got worse the first year he was gone and I had a hard time getting her to take her medicine and eat right. I was tired of dealing with it, tired of being the bad guy in her mind. One day she thought I was trying to poison her. The next, I was stealing her thoughts and selling them to the government. I never did figure out what the government would want with the thoughts of a forty-something librarian from Brooklyn, but she thought it was important. One of Frank's friends introduced me to the group Frank left behind and I started hanging out with them. They were a bad bunch, but I didn't care. It was a change, something stimulating and different from the life I'd grown bored with. Some of them dealt drugs in the neighborhood and the schools, but I never got involved with that. Dealing wasn't my thing."

He dropped his head back and looked at the ceiling. Eames hand tightened around his and she shifted closer still, pressing her knee and shin into his thigh. "Did you use at all?" she asked, careful to keep her tone neutral so he would not think she was accusing him of anything.

"Sometimes. Not like my brother did, but sometimes. It was...a way of coping for me. A bad way, yes, but at sixteen I wasn't aware of too many other options. It made dealing with my mother a little bit easier when she got really bad...and the, uh, the beatings hurt less. It wasn't a daily thing, or even a weekly one. Just...sometimes. I saw my brother when he was really messed up, and I didn't want to be like that. Frank had a brilliant mind, and he fried it. I valued my intelligence more than that, but still, it didn't hurt me to...escape...to, uh, to feel good once in awhile."

When Eames only nodded and stroked his hand with her thumb, he relaxed a little and continued talking. "We, uh, we would break into homes when the owners were away. I was always the lookout while they raided the house for money, jewelry, anything they could use to get more drugs. One night, a few weeks before Christmas, we broke into a house in Kensington." He paused for a moment, his mind in the past. "The owner wasn't supposed to be home. He was supposed to be away with his family in Colorado, but a business matter forced him home for a few days. He...he came down the stairs, armed with a handgun. One of the guys grabbed a...a fireplace poker. He went to hit the guy with it but I got in the way. I...I couldn't let them kill him. There was...there was a struggle. I..." His voice began to tremble from the memory. "I tried to protect the guy...A...A...gun...went off and I had this crippling pain in my side..." His hand strayed over a spot in his lower left side, a place that Eames knew from the night before bore the scar of a bullet wound. "I woke up in the emergency room, under arrest for murder. The bullet passed cleanly through and they released me after a few hours of observation. My father bailed me out and...I got, uh, I got punished...for getting caught."

With her free hand, Eames stroked his thigh. He continued to tremble. Without judging, she asked, "What came of it?"

"One of the guys was Frank's best friend. He felt bad about what happened and he came clean to the police when he was arrested. Three of the other guys confirmed his story, and it matched my statement. Since I was still a juvenile, they offered me a deal. In exchange for my testimony, they gave me probation. My, uh, my tox screen came back positive, so they made routine drug testing part of my probation. I had to stay clean and out of serious trouble, until I was eighteen. Then they closed and sealed my record. It never kept me from becoming a cop." He looked at his partner with concern in his eyes. "I told you my past wasn't pretty."

"I had no idea it was so...exciting."

He knew her well enough to know she was not making light of the issue. It was very serious. But she was trying to make him feel better. He wished it was something she was able to do. "I messed up, big time."

"So you went back to being bored?"

"Not quite. I had to challenge the system. I did stay away from all the hard stuff, but I still got high with Lewis sometimes. I knew when I was being tested and I knew when I could and when I couldn't smoke. It was 1977. I couldn't get away with it now, but back then I did. I was smart about drinking, too, and I never got caught, except by my brother, but then he'd buy us beer and pot, so..." He shrugged. "Like my dad, Frank wasn't the best role model, but back then, I looked up to him. It was years before I...got smart about his addictions and quit enabling him."

Eames still held firmly to his hand and her fingers still lightly stroked his thigh, comforting him. "Is that why you went into narcotics after you made detective?"

"Yes. I tried to...atone for the past. But it never took away the guilt."

Logan squeezed his shoulder. "Guilt is your stock in trade, buddy."

Eames leaned in and lightly kissed the corner of his mouth. "You straightened out your life."

"Mostly, yes. After I joined the Army, I stopped smoking pot entirely, and I got into law enforcement. I found it to be more stimulating and more challenging than anything I'd ever done. Then I met Gage, and everything changed."

Eames looked at Logan. "What time does Moredock want to see us?"

"One o'clock. He said he has a surprise."

"Oh, good," she answered. "Just what we need. More surprises."

Logan stood up. "Mind if I have breakfast?"

Goren waved a hand toward the kitchen. "Help yourself."

"Thanks." He stopped halfway to the kitchen. "Hey, Lewis never mentioned you got shot that night."

"He never knew. It's never been something I talked about, even with him. I've...never told anyone else about it."

Logan shook his head. "The world's gonna hear about it now. Sorry, Bobby."

He disappeared into the kitchen and Goren looked at his partner. He shrugged. "Now...now you know. I was dysfunctional then and not much has changed. Aren't you glad you weren't sober last night?"

She let out a deep breath. "What do I have to do to convince you that my affection for you is not fickle?"

"Eames..."

She silenced him with a soft kiss, one she quickly deepened, much to his surprise. He started to pull away, but she slipped her hand into his hair and he surrendered. Logan looked out from the kitchen, and he smiled. That was exactly what Goren needed from her, and he was glad to see her offer accepted. This was an incredibly hard time for Goren, and Eames was the only one who could help him through it.

* * *

When Moredock called them into his office that afternoon, all three detectives were stopped in their tracks by the two men who sat at the low table in the middle of the room. Eames was the first to recover. "Captain, Mr. Carver...what are you doing here?"

The men stood and approached their former colleagues. Logan grinned at Carver. "I thought you were in Michigan."

"I was and I'll go back there when this is over. I've come to help." He looked at Goren. "Jimmy says you've found yourself in some trouble."

Accepting Carver's outstretched hand, Goren said, "That's an understatement, sir. I'm not sure what you can do, though."

Deakins shook his hand and stepped into a quick embrace. "Hello, Bobby."

Goren shifted uncomfortably when Deakins stepped back. "I, uh, I should have called you..."

"Alex relayed your message."

Goren glanced at his partner, then looked back at their former captain. "I, uh, I don't know how to thank you. I...I can't..."

"You just did. We have faith in you."

When Goren turned his head and looked down, Eames squeezed his arm. He looked at her. "Thank you," he murmured.

She nodded with a small smile. Moredock clapped Goren on the shoulder. "We have a lot of work to do, starting with that juvenile record of yours. Sit down and let's get started."

After Goren retold the story that would be revealed when McCoy got his record, Deakins pointed out, "This happened thirty years ago, and he hasn't been involved in anything even remotely similar since. Is it really something we have to be overly concerned with?"

Carver said, "This is Jack McCoy we're dealing with, Jimmy. He'll use it to his advantage. It sets a precedent for involvement in a violent crime, even though it happened three decades ago. Tell me, detective, were you under the influence of anything that night?"

Goren nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Jack will use it."

Goren looked toward the window. "There's no refuting it. It happened."

Moredock thought for a moment. "Refute it, no. Use it, yes. Jack will use it to try to convince the jury that you have a tendency toward violence. We can use it to convince them that you don't."

Goren raised his hands. "How?"

"Son, you tried to defend that man, and you received a serious injury. That says something about your character."

Logan got up from his chair and began to pace. "Is there any reason to think that the same thing didn't happen this time?"

Moredock looked at Goren. "Robert? You took a serious beating that night, and this little voice at the back of my head tells me that it wasn't the victim who did it."

Carver said, "That's exactly what Jack will try to convince the jury."

Eames frowned. "That Lori Hodges did that to him?"

Carver nodded. "Lori Hodges would have been fighting for her life, and size can be deceiving. I imagine you will be the example Jack will use to prove that point, and there is plenty of evidence to support his claim."

Goren shook his head. "Lori was nothing like Eames. She was...not as tough. Ten years ago, she was assaulted by a boyfriend. She tried to fight back, and he laughed at her efforts. She was not a fighter."

Moredock grabbed a legal pad. "What was the name of that boyfriend?"

Eames noticed that the lawyer did not question Goren's memory, and her partner did not disappoint him. "Uh, Ryan...Ryan Devlin. He, uh, he was a high school football star who crashed and burned after he graduated. That left him bitter and angry, even ten years later. She never told me what made him so angry, and he wouldn't tell me, either."

"You went to see him after the assault?"

"I arrested him after the assault and turned him over to the Special Victim's squad in the Bronx, where she lived. That's where the assault happened."

Moredock scribbled some notes. "Were you angry?"

"Of course I was. She was my friend and he put her in the hospital."

The lawyer looked him directly in the face. "Did you assault him during the arrest?"

"Of course not. I wasn't exactly gentle, but I didn't rough him up, either. That doesn't mean I didn't want to, but I can control myself, Mr. Moredock."

Moredock smiled. "Let's have some more examples of that control."

* * *

Logan flipped open the pizza box on the small corner table and took out a slice. It was seven-thirty and there were people and files scattered around the office. The office staff was long gone. Goren was pacing, as he'd done for most of the afternoon. Not even Eames could convince him to settle down for long. "Level with me," Goren said suddenly, addressing the two lawyers. "How much damage will my juvenile record do to my case?"

Carver looked at Moredock before he answered, "The damage can be mitigated, detective. Jack will build part of his case around it, but this was not a violent offense. You were guilty of breaking and entering, but only as an accessory. Did they find any controlled substances on you in the emergency room or after they took you into custody?"

"No. Not even a joint."

"All right then, Your probation was for misdemeanor B&E, not for the murder. Sixteen or not, they would never have given you probation if they charged you with murder or with a felony. I'll take a look at the file when we get it, but I can almost guarantee there were no violent charges."

He looked at the two lawyers. "Level with me, gentlemen. Do I stand a chance to be acquitted?"

"Of course you do," Moredock asserted.

Goren expected that response from his attorney. He shifted his eyes toward Carver, who was more cautious with his response. "Let me look at Jack's witness list and the rest of the evidence he's gathered. We'll go over it all and see what kind of testimony we're looking at and balance it against the cross-examination we have and the witnesses we can get. But all things considered, even taking into account Jack's aggressive prosecution style, I still think that you do have a good chance for acquittal."

Logan said, "It would help if we could find the son of a bitch who actually killed her and nail him."

Goren looked at him and Logan raised his hands before anyone could snap at him. "I know, I know. I'm stating the flipping obvious. It's what I do."

By mutual consent, they decided to call it a night around nine. Goren approached Deakins and Carver. "I appreciate you coming out here for me, Mr. Carver."

Carver smiled warmly as he shook Goren's hand. "When Jim called me, I knew I had to do everything I could to help. I would hate for the criminal justice system to lose such a powerful asset."

"Thank you, sir. It helps to have a prosecutor's perspective."

He turned to Deakins and shook his hand as well. "Captain..."

"Please. I'm not your captain any more. It's just Jimmy these days. And there's no need to thank me again. Angie and I were pleased to help. Try to get some rest, Bobby, and take care of yourself. I know you're having a hard time, but have some faith in us. We're going to do everything we can to get you acquitted."

He nodded and sat down heavily. Eames squatted beside his chair as Moredock and Logan talked with the other two men by the door. She ran her hand over his hair. "It's going to be all right."

He shrugged. "You're still talking to me."

"Why wouldn't I be? Because you got in trouble as a kid? Bobby, what matters to me is the man you are today, not the messed-up kid you were then."

He gave her a lopsided grin. "You were the prom queen and I was breaking into houses and doing drugs. We couldn't have been more different. How do we get along so well now?"

She touched his chin. "Look at the man you are now," she said gently, with deep affection. "That's why we get along so well."

"Let's go home," he said.

She stroked the back of his hand. "Do I have to get drunk again tonight?"

"Alex...I...can't..."

"That's fine. It's up to you. But if you want...the offer stands."

"Thank you," he whispered. "But I can't. "

She was disappointed but she couldn't let him see that. She had faith that he would come around, though it might not happen until after the trial. She would give him that time. Once he was acquitted, neither of them would have an excuse. It was the uncertainty of the verdict that made her willing to wait, even though the uncertainty was not hers.

* * *

They said good night to Logan before they went up to Goren's apartment. Eames sat beside him on the couch and hugged him. He wrapped his arms around her and said, "I want you to know...how much it means to me that you still believe in me."

"Nothing has changed, Bobby. You're still the same man and you didn't kill Lori. You're still my partner, and I still love you. End of discussion. Now I'm very tired and I want to go to bed. Mr. Moredock wants us to talk to some of your buddies from Narcotics and we're meeting Dennis at five."

"Oh, good. Something to look forward to," he muttered.

A moment later she eased back from his embrace. "You can sleep in your bed," she offered.

"Not with you in it," he answered. "Good night, Eames."

She leaned forward and kissed him, lightly stroking his hair as she did. "Good night, Bobby."

She went down the hall to the bedroom and he reclined on the couch, picking up the remote and flipping through the channels to watch television until he was able to fall asleep.


	10. Complications

Eames came into the apartment at three-thirty. She and Logan had spent the day chasing down former narcotics detectives and talking to them about Goren. The general consensus was exactly what Eames had expected to find, something she already knew from intimate experience: Goren was a brilliant investigator and a devoted cop. He was careful and thorough, so his arrests always led to convictions. As for his tactics, they were sometimes questionable but never violent.

She heard the shower running and went into the kitchen for a drink of water. Twenty minutes later, while she was sitting on the couch reviewing her casenotes, Goren came out of the bedroom. He was wearing jeans and a white shirt, open at the collar, beneath a soft navy blue sweater, and she smiled at him. "Sharp," she commented.

He shrugged. "I don't guess it matters what I wear, but you like this sweater, so..."

She set aside her file and approached him, gently smoothing her hand over his sweater, loving the soft texture beneath her palm. Without warning, she leaned up and kissed him. Taken by surprise, he placed his hands on her hips before coming to his senses and stepping back from her. She knew he was uncertain and confused, and she was doing her best to reassure him. He studied her face before turning and grabbing a jacket from the hall closet. He pulled out her coat as well. "We'd better get going. Where's Logan?"

"He went to pick up Mr. Carver. He'll meet us there."

"Mr. Carver?"

"Yes. He wants to be there."

He groaned. "This is going to be a damn circus."

"It's not going to hurt to have Carver there."

"Who is Dennis expecting?"

"Just Logan and me."

He shoved his keys in his pocket and waited for her by the door. "He's getting an entourage."

She poked him in the stomach. "Relax. It's going to be all right."

He followed her out the door, saying, "You keep telling me that and I am not seeing it."

She waited while he locked the door. "You will, partner. I promise."

While they waited for the elevator, he leaned close to her ear and said, "Don't make promises you can't keep, Eames."

"I'll remember that," she said as the door slid open.

As the door closed and the elevator began to descend, she grasped his hand and held it firmly. She was relieved when he did not try to pull away.

* * *

The diner looked busier than it actually was. Eames and Logan waited for Bergeron in a booth near the center of the room. Two booths away Goren sat alone. Across the aisle from the three detectives sat Moredock, Carver and Ross, while Rubirosa sat alone three booths away from them. Other diners scattered around them were oblivious to the fact that any of them were there together.

Bergeron arrived several minutes early, obviously surprised to find the detectives already there. He slid into the booth beside Logan, waving away the waitress as she approached. "I'm not staying," he insisted.

Eames was amused by Bergeron's demeanor. It was clear that he thought the diner was beneath him. He frowned at the two detectives. "Let's get this over with so I can get out of here. What did you want?"

"What's wrong with this place?" Logan asked. "They have great homemade soup and killer burgers."

"First of all, Detective Logan, I do not eat burgers, nor do I ever eat at diners. Secondly, this is the same diner I saw Lori in with that bastard who killed her."

"Really?" Logan replied, looking at Eames as though they'd hit a home run, which they obviously had. "That's funny, because that was what we wanted to talk to you about. Do you remember where they were seated?"

Bergeron looked around, pointing toward the front of the dining area. "Over there, by that window, not even trying to hide it."

"And what did the guy look like?"

Bergeron scowled. "Just like Lori always described him. Tall and broad, nice clothes when he wasn't playing with drug dealers."

"That's a pretty general description," Eames said.

Bergeron looked at her as though she had no business speaking to him. "Well, now I have a person to put to the description. The guy's been arrested, so what does it matter?"

When Bergeron turned his attention back to Logan, Eames nodded at Goren. Bergeron poked a finger at Logan, which irritated him. The stockbroker said, "If there's nothing else, Detective, I would like to get out of here. I need to go home," he looked around distastefully. "...and shower."

Goren approached the table and casually bumped into Bergeron where he sat. Bergeron glared up at him. "Watch where the hell you're going, fella!"

"Uh...sorry..." He looked down at the three occupants of the booth. "Um...do you think I could, uh, borrow your ketchup?"

Eames grabbed the bottle and handed it to him. "There you are."

He smiled. "Thank you."

Bergeron didn't give him a second look. It was clearly apparent that he did not recognize Goren. Rubirosa wrote on the legal pad on the table in front of her, as did Moredock. Carver smiled and nodded at Eames.

Bergeron got out of the booth and dusted off his clothes. "I really must be going. This is a place for...cops and people of that ilk. Not for me."

Eames raised a finger. "Before you go, Mr. Bergeron, there is someone we would like you to meet." She waved her hand at her partner, who stepped up beside Bergeron. "Dennis Bergeron, _this_ is Robert Goren."

Bergeron stared at the tall man beside him. "No, he's not. This is not the man I saw with Lori."

"You're certain about that?" Logan asked.

"Absolutely. What kind of trick is this?"

Eames shook her head. "It's no trick, Mr. Bergeron. We have no idea who you saw with your wife that day, but it wasn't Goren."

Quietly, Goren said, "I haven't seen Lori in eight years. I did not kill your wife."

Bergeron glared at him. "They found your blood in my house!" he screamed.

Logan grabbed the man as he slid toward hysteria. "Let's take this outside, people."

Once out on the sidewalk, Logan made the mistake of releasing Bergeron. The poised and sophisticated stockbroker launched himself at Goren, landing a solid blow on Goren's left cheek just below his eye. The big man stumbled backwards, but made no move to strike back. Logan and Ross grabbed Bergeron and held him fast. "Let me go!" he screamed. "That bastard killed my wife! Why isn't he in prison, where he belongs?"

"Calm down!" Ross growled. "Or we'll haul you in for aggravated assault and disturbing the peace."

Goren studied his old friend's husband for a moment, gingerly touching his bruised cheek. He turned and walked away. Eames hurried after him. Once he was no longer restrained, Bergeron pointed in the direction the partners had gone. "Aren't you going to stop him?"

"He won't go far," Ross assured him. "Besides, he's out on bail."

Bergeron looked at the people who'd followed them out of the diner. He poked a finger aggressively at Logan and Ross. "If he crosses my path again, I'll make sure he never harms another woman. I'll save the taxpayers the cost of his trial."

Logan frowned at him. "Did you just threaten a police officer?"

Bergeron scowled at him. "No. I threatened a murderer."

He stormed off. Ross turned to Rubirosa. "Find out anything interesting, counsellor?"

"Nothing I haven't already suspected, captain. Good night."

* * *

Connie Rubirosa lay stretched out on her bed, looking through more of Goren's records. She was doing her best to find what McCoy was convinced was somewhere in the reams of paper scattered around her office and her apartment, that Robert Goren had a propensity toward violence that preceded the murder of Lori Hodges.

Tonight, she'd watched Dennis Bergeron physically assault Goren, who did nothing to strike back at him. In Bergeron, she saw an enraged elitist with anger control issues. In Goren, she saw a man more prone to step away than lash out violently. In the files that had become the focus of her days and the subject of her dreams, she saw no indication of a violent man, no matter how much Jack wanted him to be one. So how did his blood end up in Lori Hodges' bedroom and why was there no physical evidence of a third party present if someone else killed her? In her search for answers, all she was finding was more questions.

* * *

Bobby Goren walked away from the diner, away from the group of friends and colleagues who were more convinced of his innocence than he was. He heard the footsteps behind him, but he could not force himself to stop. His thoughts were racing along with his heart rate. _They found your blood in my house!_ _His_ blood...

A hand closed around his arm and he turned. His pulse was pounding behind his eyes and he couldn't breathe. The street shot past him, spinning, faster and faster. Her voice was far away, too far to reach him. Everything went black.

* * *

_Whirr...Ka-thunk...Shoop...Whirr...Ka-thunk..._

He opened his eyes slowly, but all he saw was white. He began to move his head. A woman's voice, gently persuasive, echoed around him. "Don't move, Robert."

He responded to women, and he stopped moving. The voice said, "Very good. We're almost done."

He heard the sound of voices in the far distance, but he made no attempt to decipher them. He closed his eyes.

* * *

He opened his eyes again. Above him, lights approached and passed, over and over, making him nauseous. "I...I don't feel...so good..." he murmured.

A cool hand came to rest on his forehead, and he followed the arm until he found a face. "Eames..."

His eyes slowly began to close, but the movement changed, shifting him to the side and the room kept spinning. The movement stopped but the room continued to spin and his stomach lurched. Turning onto his side, he pushed himself onto his elbow, and a kidney basin appeared beside him. He retched, and the same cool hand smoothed his hair back. More retching followed.

When his stomach settled, the room finally stopped spinning and he fell back onto the bed. Two cool hands, one holding his hand, one stroking his face, comforted him. "Eames," he whispered.

Tender lips brushed his forehead and her soft, comforting voice soothed him. "Shhh..."

He closed his eyes against the bright lights that made his head hurt. Soft and moist, her lips caressed his and he relaxed. Everything faded again.


	11. Slip of the Tongue

Eames had to run to catch up to Goren. Her natural strides were no match for his long ones and he was moving quickly. There was a good reason she never went anywhere with him in shoes she could not comfortably run in. He rounded the corner and it took her another half block before she was close enough to reach out to him. When she grabbed his arm, he stopped and turned. She slid her hand to his wrist. "Bobby, slow down. Talk to me."

He was frowning, and his eyes were unfocused as he looked at her face. Then his knees buckled and he collapsed. "Bobby!" She dropped to his side, ignoring the pounding of footfalls a few yards away. Logan appeared beside her and she heard Ross' urgent voice say the word "ambulance".

"What happened?" Logan asked.

Eames did not take her eyes from Goren's face. "I don't know. He just collapsed. He didn't say anything."

"Wimpy elitist gets a TKO."

"Shut up, Mike."

She gently gathered her partner's head in her lap while Logan monitored his breathing until the paramedics arrived to take him away from her.

* * *

Jack McCoy looked surprised. "What do you mean, he's in the hospital? What happened?"

"Dennis Bergeron punched him."

McCoy waited expectantly for the rest of the joke, but she said nothing more. "You can't be serious."

"Bergeron did not know him, but he still believes he is the one who killed his wife. He went nuts and punched Goren in the face."

"What did Goren do?"

Connie leaned forward earnestly. "He walked away, Jack. He just walked away. He got around the corner and about halfway down the block and he collapsed. Barry Moredock called just before I came in here to talk to you. The head injury he received the night of the murder was much more serious than they originally thought. They're doing testing now to determine the extent of it."

McCoy leaned back in his chair. "He walked away, huh?"

"Yes. He never made a move against Bergeron."

"Maybe guilt moderated his real reaction. Have you gone out to Carmel Ridge yet?"

She nodded. "Yesterday. I talked to several of the nurses on staff. They said he was a devoted son, very concerned with his mother's care and very involved in every aspect of her life. He called frequently and visited every week. They said she could be a very difficult woman, and she was very hard on him at times, but he loved her and he took care of her until the day she died. He spent the last hours of her life sitting by her bed, holding her hand and watching her slip away one final time."

"A devoted son...yet he kept her institutionalized?"

"I spoke with her primary doctor. Years of non-compliance with her medications made her disease unmanageable as she became older. Goren left the Army to come home and take care of her, and when he found he couldn't manage her on his own, he admitted her to Carmel Ridge. He explored his options, and that was the best one for her. The doctor concurred with everything the nurses said. He was a very involved, very caring son."

"Is there any evidence of neglect?"

"No. Just the opposite. I'm telling you, Jack, this man is not what you want him to be."

"Keep digging. There has to be something there. Jury selection starts Monday."

Rubirosa sighed and left the office. Back at her desk, she settled back and grabbed Goren's Army file. _Keep digging..._if she dug any deeper she'd strike oil.

* * *

A number of sensations entered his mind when awareness returned. Aside from his throbbing head, he was comfortable. He opened his eyes, but the light hurt and he closed them again. Sick to his stomach, he shifted his position in an attempt to ease both the headache and the nausea. Gentle fingers stroked his forehead and the side of his face. He moistened his lips and opened his eyes a little, struggling unsuccessfully to focus. "Eames?"

She squeezed his hand, her cool fingers continuing their comforting caress of his face. "Who else would be sitting here at three in the morning?"

He tightened his hand around hers. He wanted her there, but he cared more about her needs than his own. "Go home. Get some sleep."

He spoke slowly, carefully. Some of his words seemed a little slurred and worry tightened its grip on her. "How do you feel?" she asked, ignoring his request.

He ran his tongue over dry lips again, and she offered him a drink of water. He couldn't manage more than a sip. "My head...my head hurts, and I feel...sick."

She caressed his forehead and quietly said, "The head injury you received last week was a lot more serious than they realized. When Bergeron punched you, it compounded an already serious problem. Have you been having any headaches, or blurred vision, trouble thinking or forming words?"

As he became more alert, he was able to find his words with more ease and his speech cleared. His mind became more sharp, his vision more focused. His head still pounded, but he could at least function. He shrugged. "Some, I guess."

"And you never thought to mention it?"

He frowned. "Forgive me if I have other things on my mind, Eames."

She bit her lip and looked down at his arm, searching for a response that wouldn't force him to withdraw. Concern for his health had momentarily pushed away the looming spectre of his uncertain future. He reached up to stroke her cheek. "I'm sorry. I thought it was stress."

He was certainly stressed and that was a reasonable assumption. "You were drunk last week when you went to Lori's, but that's not why you don't remember what happened. It's the head injury. An MRI revealed a subdural hematoma. Whoever you confronted in Lori Hodges' home did a real number on you."

He sat up slowly and raised a hand to his head, touching his temple as the room began to spin. She pressed a button on the side rail, raising the head of the bed and forcing him back against it. He struggled against nausea. "What's my prognosis?"

She was encouraged by his question. It indicated a level of concern for himself he'd not shown lately. "They said you'll be okay. So far there are no signs of intracranial pressure, and that's the most serious complication. The prescription for recovery is time. Let your brain heal. Avoid angry stockbrokers who want you dead."

He narrowed his eyes. "That wasn't my idea."

"Mr. Moredock and Mr. Carver both agree it was worth it. Bergeron has never seen you before."

"All that proves is that I wasn't the man he claims was having an affair with his wife. It doesn't absolve me from what happened in his house."

"No, but it weakens his testimony for the prosecution and with it, McCoy's argument for motive."

"McCoy will change his argument, Eames. Who said she was restricted to one lover? Just because I wasn't the man in the diner doesn't mean I wasn't having an affair with her."

She huffed in frustration. "Were you having an affair with Lori, Goren?"

"No."

"All right then. Cut it out or I'll tell McCoy to put you on his payroll."

He rubbed his temple as the throbbing pain worsened. "I'm not going into this with unrealistic expectations, Eames. Conviction is a real possibility."

She shook her head stubbornly, tears threatening. "No. I don't accept it as an outcome."

He lowered the side rail of the bed and reached toward her, sliding his hand behind her to draw her into his arms. She buried her face in his chest and he held her, running his hand over her hair. "So stubborn," he whispered, amused. Without thinking, he added, "I love you."

She felt him suddenly tense and she pulled back. Noting the look of surprise on his face, she said, "Yes, you said that out loud. It must have been the head injury talking. Don't worry...I won't hold you to it." She stepped away from his side and raised the side rail back into place. "I'd better get a nurse to come in and look at you now that you're awake."

She was at the door when he called her name. Turning, she looked at him. He struggled to find the right words. "I wouldn't say something like that to you and not mean it, whether I intended to say it or not."

She considered his words and studied his face. "So the big secret's out, huh?"

He shrugged. "I guess so."

Another moment passed. "It's not a catastrophe, Bobby. I'll be right back."

He closed his eyes and mused to himself, _Not a catastrophe? That's a matter of opinion..._

* * *

After a few hours of fitful sleep in the chair beside her partner's bed, Eames left to meet Logan, promising to return later in the day. Over the course of the morning, nurses came and went, and his doctor visited twice, pleased with his mental status. Just to cover all his bases, the doctor ordered a consult with neurology and if everything looked good, they would release him in a few days.

Just before lunch, the door opened. Laying on his side facing toward the windows, Goren turned over, expecting Eames. The visitor surprised him. "Hello, Mr. Carver."

"Detective. How do you feel?"

"I...I don't know for certain," he answered honestly.

Carver pulled up a chair. "You gave us a bit of a scare. I'm glad you're all right."

"'All right' is a matter of perspective." _Change the subject..._ "How is Michigan?"

"Very different. My wife has taken upon herself a personal mission to find every child in the state of Michigan who has fallen through the cracks in the system. It's a daunting task."

As one of those children who had never been identified by an overworked system, Goren understood the truth in his words. "She's a determined woman."

Carver smiled affectionately as he nodded in agreement. "A very determined woman."

A silence stretched between them as Goren studied the former city prosecutor with a practiced eye. "Why are you here, Mr. Carver?"

Carver leaned forward. "Two reasons. Jimmy Deakins asked me to come, and I wanted to help. I've known you for a long time, detective. This is not a crime I can even imagine you doing. Not you. Tell me what happened that night."

Goren wondered what good it would do to recount the events of nearly two weeks ago yet again. Perhaps a fresh pair of eyes, belonging to an uninvolved party with no stake in the outcome, would bring some clarity. "Saturday night...I was home alone. I talked to Eames between ten and eleven and I fell asleep on my couch watching television. I was drinking, but I didn't drink so much that I wouldn't remember waking up and leaving. My car was still parked where I left it Saturday afternoon. I remember waking up in the hospital but I have no idea how I got there. Wednesday afternoon I was arrested for the murder of Lori Hodges."

"Did you know her?"

"We were friends a long time ago. She worked for the department until her boyfriend made her choose between her job and her friends and him. She chose him and I didn't see her again."

"And yet you were at her home the night she was murdered."

"Apparently. My prints were found in her living room and my blood was in her bedroom. How they got there, I can't tell you."

"But they are there, placing you at the scene when she was murdered."

"Yes."

"In the absence of evidence implicating another person, Jack McCoy will argue that you sustained your injuries when Lori Hodges fought for her life."

Goren nodded. "It's a valid argument, but I don't think she could have done that much damage to me. Lori was a small woman, but not a fighter like Eames." He shook his head. "It wasn't her."

"But you have no proof."

"No." He shifted uncomfortably. "Mr. Carver, how much will my juvenile record impact my defense?"

"I can't say it will have no bearing. Jack will certainly use it to establish a prior record of a similar offense. But it was thirty years ago, and Barry can manipulate the circumstances leading to your probation in your favor. Is there anything in your Army record that could cause problems for us?"

Goren shook his head. "No. I was never in any major trouble. I mean, there are things in my record, a few LORs because I push things too far sometimes when I know I'm right. But there are letters of commendation in there, too, because I do have a tendency to be right."

"Nothing violent?"

"No. Nothing violent." He was quiet. "You know me, Mr. Carver. I am not a violent man."

Carver smoothed his hand over his shirt. "I know that, but you have a troubled past. Jack will use that against you, and he is very good at handling juries. But so is Barry, and he has plenty of evidence to raise reasonable doubt. Ultimately, your fate will lie in the hands of those jurors and the opinions they form of you. Barry can paint a very sympathetic picture and you need to go along with that."

"Sympathy..." Goren muttered.

"Sympathy is not a bad thing, detective. You need to go with it."

Goren rubbed his forehead, willing the throbbing to stop. He steered the conversation away from himself. "Are you going to..get yourself in any trouble, you know, for being here? For helping?"

Carver shook his head. "I no longer work for the New York District Attorney."

"But you're still a prosecutor."

"Well out of my jurisdiction. I'm here solely in an advisory capacity."

He was interrupted by an orderly, bringing in a lunch tray. The young man looked at Goren with a smile, then left the room. Carver stood. "Go ahead and eat your lunch. I wanted to stop by to see how you are doing."

Goren pushed the tray away, still sick to his stomach and intermittently fighting a spinning room. "Thank you...for coming."

"You should eat."

Goren rested his head back into the pillows. "Maybe later," he murmured, closing his eyes.

He felt suddenly, overwhelmingly tired. The room spun out of focus and his surroundings became muffled in cotton. He drifted away from the light and into a warm, comfortable darkness where he didn't have to fight for his freedom, his future, or his life. He was able to let everything go and just exist...no demons from the past to taunt him, no uncertainty of the future to trouble him. There was nothing, and he was able to rest.

* * *

The lights were off and the room was quiet when Eames returned that evening. She and Logan had successfully located several people who had been friends of Lori Hodges' at the same time Goren had been, and they corroborated his story. Lori chose Dennis over them and none of them had seen her in over eight years. They remembered Goren as an odd guy, but gentle and kind. Lori had always spoken fondly of him. She never tolerated the rumors that circulated about him, and people quit discussing them in her presence. There were rumors of a romance, but nothing anyone knew first-hand. Eames was troubled. Rumors might be enough to raise more doubts. She knew that her partner had a difficult, murky past. Until this point, however, she had no idea just how murky it really was.

She stepped up to the bed and laid a hand on his chest, closing her eyes as she felt the throb of his heart under her hand. His chest rose and fell in a steady, slow rhythm. He was sleeping, and she was not about to wake him. She looked toward the door when a nurse came into the room, her face concerned. "We're glad you're back; we've been trying to reach you. There's been a complication," she said, her tone quiet and urgent.

Eames swallowed panic. "What kind of complication?"

"This afternoon, he slipped into a coma."


	12. Helping the Case

Eames sat in the chair beside Goren's bed, silently holding his hand. She had never seen him so quiet, and, as irritating as his constant need to move could sometimes be, she hated this artificial stillness. His condition had deteriorated through the night, and they'd had to put him on a respirator, but they assured her it was not abnormal. Most comatose patients need help breathing, and the support they were giving him was minimal. There had been some increase in intracranial pressure which accounted for his need for added support.

The door opened, and Logan entered with the two lawyers. He stopped at the foot of the bed and looked at his friend, his face dark and troubled. He hadn't expected this. Finally, his eyes shifted to Eames. "What happened?"

"They called me at two this morning. He took a turn for the worse and stopped breathing. They had him stabilized by four and he's doing all right now."

"Did they say what caused his condition to change?"

"When Bergeron hit him, it compounded an already serious injury. They'd been hoping there would be no more swelling, but they were wrong. The area of concussion has continued to swell and that has increased the pressure in his brain. Once the swelling goes down, he'll probably wake up."

Logan's frown deepened. "I'm going to arrest me a stockbroker."

Moredock nodded slowly, "That will definitely anger some people, detective."

Logan looked at him. "Will it hurt Bobby's case in any way?"

All eyes turned to Carver, who shook his head. "I don't see how. It may even help by weakening Jack's case a little."

"Good. I'm thinking an audience will make a big impact on the guy. Come Monday morning, Mr. Bergeron is going to spend some time as our guest in a Major Case holding cell."

Several hours later, Logan stood by the window, looking out at the gray, rainy day. In the room's remaining chairs sat the two attorneys, conferring over a file. Carver sat back. "All right, Detective Eames. Let's go over the time line for last Saturday night." He consulted a paper in the file on his lap. "Phone records show he called you Saturday night at ten thirty-four and talked to you for eleven minutes."

She nodded. "He...was drunk and he wanted to say good night. He was settled for the night."

"Are you certain about that?" Carver asked.

"Yes, I am."

"And when did he turn up at your door?"

"About quarter after three."

"Lori Hodges was killed in her home—how far from your apartment?"

"A half or three-quarters of a mile."

"Would he have driven there if she called him?"

She shook her head adamantly. "No way. In the eight years I have known him he has never driven intoxicated. He wouldn't."

Carver smiled. Eames knew her partner at least as well as he thought she did. He held up a paper from the file in his lap. "Cab records. He was picked up at eleven fifty."

He looked at Logan, who elaborated, "I tracked down the cabbie, who confirmed he was intoxicated when he picked him up outside his apartment. He said he was agitated, but that could have just been Goren. He dropped him off at Lori's brownstone at twelve twenty. He said he went right inside; the door wasn't locked."

Eames nodded, looking at her comatose partner. "She must have called him," she mused. "She was in trouble and she called him."

"But why?" Moredock asked. "After so many years..."

"Something happened to terrify her and her husband was in Chicago. From what we could tell, she was only allowed to have female friends, so she had no one in her current life she could call when this kind of trouble surfaced. She must have known that if she called Bobby, he would come, no questions asked."

'What kind of trouble is that?" Carver asked.

"The kind of trouble that could kill her."

Moredock studied her. "That doesn't surprise you, that he would venture out drunk in the middle of a January night to help a woman he hadn't seen or heard from in over eight years?"

"No, it doesn't. Not at all."

She looked at Logan who nodded agreement. "He'd do exactly that."

She pointed to the phone record in Carver's hand. "Does the phone record show any calls after he called me?"

Carver smiled at her again. "Just one. Incoming, not outgoing. The number is registered to Dennis Bergeron, his home number. Lori Hodges did call your partner that night. Jack will do one of two things with this information. Either he will overlook it or he will identify it and use it to prove contact, which it does. Now, Jack does not overlook things, so we'll go with the second scenario. Is Goren's number listed?"

"No. He can be reckless, but he's not stupid. He doesn't need some pissed off drug dealer or vengeful ex-con showing up on his doorstep."

"Has he had the same number for the past eight years?"

Eames shook her head. "No. He changed his number when he left Narcotics."

"Same apartment?"

"Same neighborhood. He changed his number and his address when he left Narcotics. Since then I don't think he's even rearranged his living room. He doesn't like change. The disruption to his life and his routine that changing squads caused was enough for awhile."

Moredock leaned back. "So how would Lori Hodges have gotten his number?"

"Maybe she still has a friend with an NYPD connection," Logan offered.

Eames gave it some thought. What had not changed in the last decade or more of her partner's life? She remembered late one night, after closing a difficult case, in a rare moment of personal revelation she attributed to the beers he'd had, he told her the reason he'd left the Army. "His mother. At some point I'll bet she went to see his mother, and she got his number from her. Maybe she missed him and intended to contact him but never had the chance, or the courage."

"Until something in her life went horribly wrong," Logan said. "So how do we find the horribly wrong before another horrible wrong compounds it?"

Moredock answered, "We start by doing our best to maximize reasonable doubt. As long as the jury has serious doubts that he killed Lori, they won't convict him."

Carver asked, "Jack doesn't have the death penalty on the table, does he?"

Moredock shook his head. "No, but he's going for murder one. He knows that a conviction will be a death sentence for a cop in Rikers. He doesn't have to ask a court for it."

_Maximize reasonable doubt..._ That was not good enough for either Eames or Logan. While the two lawyers involved themselves in the details of their defense, Eames lost herself in the past as she watched her partner's face. His chest rose and fell as the respirator helped him breathe. When a hand came to rest on her shoulder, she laid her own hand over it and looked up at Logan. When she turned back to Goren, he leaned down and said, "He's been through a lot, and he'll get through this, too. Don't give up on him. He's gotta know that you still have faith, because when the rest of the world turns against him, he can keep going because he knows you're in his corner."

She wiped impatiently at a tear before Carver or Moredock could see it. "He knows," she said softly, with confidence, because she knew it was true. He knew.

An hour later, Moredock and Carver left, still discussing strategy. Logan stayed behind with Eames. Once they were alone, she leaned over and softly kissed her partner's temple. "Wake up, Bobby," she whispered. "Please."

Logan touched her arm and she turned suddenly into him, burying her face in his shirt. He folded his arms around her and let her cry.

* * *

The weekend passed with no change in Goren's condition. Monday morning, the jury selection for his trial began. Before heading to the courtroom, Logan and Eames visited the brokerage firm of Jones Bremerton, where Dennis Bergeron worked. The stock broker looked up from his desk when they walked in. "What are you doing here, detectives? Did anyone see you come in?"

Logan grinned like a feral cat. "I don't know if anyone saw us come in, pal, but they're going to see us go out." He pulled out his cuffs and walked around the desk, pulling Bergeron to his feet as Eames took great pleasure in saying, "Dennis Bergeron, you are under arrest for assaulting a police officer. You..."

"What?" Bergeron screeched, interrupting the reading of his rights. "I have never hit a cop."

"Thursday night," she said. "You punched my partner."

Bergeron frowned and struggled against Logan's grip. "Goren? Get real. I hit a murderer. That's not a crime."

Silently, Eames counted to ten before she replied, "Detective Goren is still a member of the NYPD, pending the outcome of his trial. So, since you assaulted a police officer and it resulted in grievous injury, you will be charged with aggravated assault, which is a felony."

Logan leaned closer and hissed in his ear. "You really need to control that temper, you know?"

Bergeron roared a string of obscenities at him, which amused Logan as he yanked the broker from around his desk. "Watch what you say in front of a lady, pal."

"Lady?" he scoffed. "She's no lady; she's a damn cop."

Deftly, Logan slipped his foot around Bergeron's ankle, knocking the man into the side of the door as he opened it. He jerked Bergeron away from the door and said, "Hey, man, watch where you're going. You're gonna hurt yourself being clumsy like that."

He glanced at Eames and winked as he pushed Bergeron, who was still swearing, through the door and down the hall toward the elevators. As they passed his secretary's desk, Bergeron called out, "Call my lawyer, Polly!"

Eames handed her a card. "He'll be at the Major Case Squad."

Following the two men down the hall, she felt a strong sense of vindication for her partner's sake at the sight of a furious Bergeron, hands cuffed behind his back. He made a series of empty threats against them as they passed him over to the uniformed officers who waited for them in front of the building. Eames told them, "We're going to the courthouse. Put him in a holding cell and let Ross know he's there. He knows what's up."

Logan turned to Eames with another grin. "That was fun. Now let's go see how it's going with the jury."

* * *

It was a long day, but by the end of it, jury selection was complete. Judge Boucher addressed Moredock. "Mr. Moredock, what is the medical status of your client?"

"He remains in a coma on respiratory support, your honor."

"The court will hear opening statements tomorrow after which I will consider granting a continuance based on the defendant's condition. We will convene at 9 a.m."

Moredock joined Eames and Logan in the hall outside the courtroom. "How is he this afternoon?" he asked Eames.

"Improving. The swelling has begun to recede and he's breathing more on his own. His doctor sounds very optimistic; he's recovering."

"Very good. I'll see you here in the morning. I need to polish my opening statement."

They watched the lawyer walk off and Logan said, "I get the feeling he's looking forward to this."

Eames nodded. "It's a challenge; there's no doubt of that. I'm going over to the hospital. Want to come along?"

"Sure. Then I'll drop you off at home. Tomorrow's either going to be a really short day in court or a really long one."

She started down the hall, away from the courtroom. "I need to stop by Bobby's apartment to check the mail and water his plants."

"Let's go. We can grab dinner on the way."

* * *

Jack McCoy sat at his desk as Connie Rubirosa sat in a nearby chair. "How do you think the selection went, Jack?"

"Not bad. I wish Moredock hadn't objected to that electrician."

"The cop hater? Do you blame him?"

With a laugh, he picked up a large manila envelope from the center of his desk and answered, "No. I would have done the same thing. Well, look what we have here: the records department of Brooklyn Juvenile Court."

Rubirosa watched him slide the envelope open and remove the folder. She was very curious to find out just what Goren had done as a kid that would have put him in the system. She was also a little nervous, torn between the demands of her job and the opinions she had formed about their suspect over the course of her investigation.

Scanning the contents of the file, McCoy's eyebrows knit together. "This involves a B&E in Kensington, just before Christmas, 1977. According to the report, he was involved with a local gang of older kids. They broke into a home they thought was empty, looking for money for drugs. The homeowner was there, and he was killed. Goren got charged with B&E, pleaded no contest and was put on probation."

"Probation? On a felony charge involving a murder?"

"It was 1977, remember? And he wasn't charged with a felony. They dropped it to a misdemeanor in his case."

"How old was he?"

He flipped a few more pages. "Sixteen, but it wasn't because of his age. There were extenuating circumstances. It seems young Robert took a bullet trying to protect the homeowner from his friends. Otherwise, he would have hung with his buddies and done time. Someone thought the boy was worth giving a break to."

"You don't? Did he get into any trouble after that?"

McCoy shook his head. "No. Not with the court." He leafed through the file he saw as his smoking gun. "You've been through all his files. Tell me what you think."

"About him taking a bullet defending someone else, even at sixteen? I think that fits right along with everything I've read about him. As for our case, you know what I think."

McCoy sighed. "If you think he's innocent, bring me the evidence because everything I have now tells me he did it." He held up the file. "And this sets a precedence."

She snorted. "Come on, Jack. That's a stretch if he wasn't involved in the killing."

"Someone died during the commission of a violent act in their own home in both cases, and he was there both times."

She studied her boss, wondering just what lengths he would go to in order to get his conviction. "What about the truth?"

"The truth is what I'm after, and this evidence tells me Goren did it. If Barry Moredock can convince the jury differently, more power to him." He dropped the file on the desk in front of him. "Goren is not going to bring this up, not after thirty years."

"You have to disclose it."

He placed it on the bottom of a stack to his left. "I will."

"After you ambush him with it?"

"You can't hide from the law forever, Connie."

* * *

Eames was expecting a few quiet hours beside her partner's hospital bed before she went home to try sleeping. She was dreading the next day. The trial would begin, heralding the final leg of the journey toward Goren's ultimate fate. Her faith in his innocence was unwavering but she had no control over the jury and she did not trust Jack McCoy. She knew by his reputation that he was ruthless when seeking a conviction. Like her partner, he was known to test the limits of the law's interpretation.

The elevator ride to the seventh floor was silent as she and Logan each hoped Goren's condition had continued to improve, but neither of them got their hopes up. They stepped off the elevator and rounded the corner toward the ward where Goren was, immediately aware of a flurry of activity. "Please, no..." Eames whispered, quickening her step.

As they turned another corner, she found her fears justified. The activity was centered on Goren's room. She was stopped by one of the nurses. "I was just going to call you," she said.

"What's wrong?"

"His condition has continued to improve all afternoon. He started to wake up about an hour ago, but he's become increasingly agitated. He extubated himself and he will not settle down. We don't want to sedate him if we don't have to but we may not have a choice. Dr. Quinn is in with him now."

She glanced at Logan before hurrying toward her partner's room. Two orderlies and a nurse were trying to restrain him as Quinn attempted to talk him down, but Goren was not calming. Logan rested his hand on the doctor's back. "Let her try," he urged.

Quinn stepped back and nodded at her. "Please do. I would really rather not sedate him right now."

Eames motioned the nurse away from where she was holding down Goren's s left shoulder, stepping up to gently grasp his wrist and upper arm. "Bobby, it's me. Settle down."

When he continued to struggle, she moved in closer. "Goren! Settle down!" she said firmly, her voice stern.

His struggling abated a little and she continued, "That's it. Calm down. I'm right here. Come on. Come back to me."

As he continued to calm, she waved off the orderlies. Once he was no longer restrained, Goren relaxed and stopped struggling. He coughed and groaned, his eyelids flickering. Dr. Quinn dismissed the orderlies but he and the nurse stood by, watching and waiting. Some patients woke slowly; some woke all at once. Goren's transition had been somewhere in between the two extremes. All afternoon, his level of consciousness had been improving until the last hour, when he began to wake up. Quinn had been called, and by the time he got to the ward, Goren had pulled out his endotracheal tube and was agitated enough to need to be restrained. His agitation increased and Quinn had sent one of the nurses to call Eames as another prepared the sedative before she had to help hold him down.

Now calm, Goren slowly forced his eyes open. "Eames," he groaned softly, searching for her.

"In a minute," Quinn promised. "Let me examine you first."

"Wh-Where...?"

Eames rubbed his leg. "I'm right here, Bobby. Relax."

Quinn examined him, pleased with the results he got. "We'll get an MRI, see what's going on in your head. Maybe we can get you out of here in a day or two, if everything looks good."

Goren nodded. Quinn stepped away and Eames took his place. Goren searched her face from under heavy lids. "It wasn't...a dream..." he murmured, voice hoarse.

She shook her head. "No, it wasn't. Jury selection was today. The trial begins in the morning."

He swallowed. "I should...be there."

"It won't hurt anything if you aren't. Moredock and Carver have it covered."

Logan stepped into his line of vision and Goren studied his friend for a moment. "Mike..." he said softly.

"Welcome back, buddy. We had a good day today. We arrested that bastard Bergeron for hitting you. He was kind enough to inform us that you're not a cop so hitting you wasn't assault, and Alex is a cop, so she's not a lady. That guy's a piece of work. What the hell did Lori see in him?"

Goren shrugged, struggling to keep his eyes open. Eames laid the flat of her hand on his chest. "Go to sleep. We'll stay until you get back from your MRI."

With a brief nod, he stopped struggling and drifted off to sleep. Tenderly, Eames ran her hand along the side of his face, smiling when he leaned into her touch. He was back.


	13. A Final Choice

Eames and Logan arrived at the courthouse at eight the next morning. Moredock and Carver were waiting for them outside the doors of Judge Boucher's courtroom. "How is he?" Moredock asked as soon as they approached.

"Much better," Eames replied. "His MRI was good. Nearly all the swelling has subsided and the hematoma has begun to be resorbed by his body. Dr. Quinn said he should be able to be discharged tomorrow morning."

Logan added, "Just in time to stand trial for a murder he didn't commit."

Carver leaned in toward the two detectives. "Trust me. We have a good case. He has a chance for acquittal."

Eames met the lawyer's eyes. "That won't be good enough for him, and you know it. He's going to want to find the man who did kill her."

Carver smiled affectionately. "I would expect no less from him, Detective Eames."

She returned his smile. "Neither would I, Mr. Carver."

They went into the courtroom and the two lawyers sat at the defendant's table. When McCoy and Rubirosa came into the courtroom, they stopped near Moredock, looking at Carver. "Ron," McCoy said with surprise as he extended a friendly hand. "What are you doing here?"

Carver accepted his outstretched hand. "Hello, Jack. I'm advising."

McCoy jerked his head toward the prosecutor's table. "Aren't you at the wrong table?"

Carver smiled. "I'm helping out an old friend."

"No conflict of interest?"

"No. This is Barry's case, not mine, and I no longer work for the New York DA."

"Like I said when you left—our loss is Michigan's gain."

They watched the two prosecutors take their places and Carver leaned toward Moredock. "He thinks he has you, Barry. It's got to be the juvenile record. I'd bet money he thinks Goren hasn't told you about it. He's thinking it's something Bobby will try to hide."

Moredock smiled. "Good. Let him think that. I love surprising prosecutors."

"Jack isn't one who likes surprises."

"So much the better."

Their conversation was interrupted by the judge's arrival. She perused the courtroom as was her habit, surprised when her gaze alighted on Carver. "Ron Carver," she said with a small smile.

"Good morning, Judge Boucher."

"Switching sides, Ron?" she asked, amused.

"No. Just helping a friend."

The judge looked at McCoy. "Any objections, Mr. McCoy?"

"No, your honor."

"Very well. Mr. Moredock, how is your client doing this morning?"

"Much improved, Your Honor. He came out of his coma last night and could possibly be discharged tomorrow."

Boucher nodded slowly. "We'll go ahead with opening arguments this morning then, and I'll order a continuance until tomorrow at one. Does that satisfy everyone?"

At the general murmur of assent and no open objection from the prosecution, she nodded at McCoy. "The floor is yours, Mr. McCoy."

* * *

Goren was sleeping when Eames entered his room at lunchtime. When she gently weaved her fingers through his hair, he opened his eyes and gave her a tired smile. She said, "They heard opening arguments this morning. No surprises. They'll reconvene tomorrow afternoon at one, hoping you'll be there."

"I plan to be," he replied, his voice still hoarse.

She nodded her head toward his untouched lunch tray. "Not hungry?"

"Not really."

She lifted the plate cover. "Chicken and rice with green beans. It's something you like. You really should eat, Bobby."

He watched her in silence, his eyes following her every move. Turning, she caught him as he shifted his eyes from her hips to her face. A light flush colored her cheeks and he leaned back with a small smile. He couldn't help it. It was fully his intention to remain as remote as he could until the outcome of his trial, so it would be easier for her to let him go, but sometimes, she just got to him.

She stepped up to the side of the bed after pushing the tray table closer. "I need to say something," she said quietly.

He moistened his lips and shook his head, afraid of what she wanted to say. "I wish you wouldn't."

She pondered his request before rejecting it. "Regardless of the outcome of your trial," she insisted. "This is something I want you to know."

"Eames, before you say anything, please, think it over. Once the words are out, there's no taking them back."

She played with the sheet as she considered his words. He was right. There was no taking it back once it was said. But this was something she felt very strongly that he needed to know. She looked up, meeting his expectant eyes, and she smiled. "This isn't something I'll want to take back," she assured him. "And I don't think it will come as a surprise to you either. I also want you to know that I don't expect any sort of answer from you."

"I still wish you wouldn't," he said softly.

"You said it first," she accused gently.

"And you were smart enough not to say it back. Don't make that mistake now."

She stared at him for a moment. "Mistake? You think it's a mistake for me to love you?"

The mixture of grief and disbelief in her eyes was more than he could face, so he looked away before answering, "Yes."

He was surprised when her fingers gently grasped his chin, guiding his face back toward hers. He couldn't help looking into her eyes. She grazed his lips with her thumb and said, "Mistake or not, I do love you, so deal with it, you stubborn ass."

His eyes misted over and he looked away again. "I'm sorry," he replied, and he meant it.

She was quiet and she didn't move except to drop her hand from his face. She rested it on his and squeezed. "Would you take it back, if you could?" she asked, knowing the answer and hoping she was wrong.

He wouldn't look at her; he couldn't if he was going to give her an honest answer. "Yes," he replied.

What he intentionally failed to add was that it wouldn't change anything. He would simply rather she never knew how he felt. That would make it easier for her to let him go when the time came.

Silently, she withdrew her hand and stepped away from the bed. He heard the door close and he swore, knocking his tray across the room with a furious swipe of his arm. Turning onto his side, he closed his eyes. He didn't answer the phone or respond in any way to the nurses who came into the room. He wanted to be left alone, and finally, he slept.

* * *

_She looked much the way he remembered her, slim, of average height, with long, dark hair that cascaded down her back. He'd always loved her hair. Relief flooded her face when he came into the house. "I am so sorry I called you, Bobby," she breathed as she hurried into his arms, holding him tight. "I didn't know what else to do. He's coming over and...I...I'm afraid of what he might do to me!"_

"_Slow down, Lori. Take a couple of deep breaths and tell me what's going on. Who's coming over?"_

_She continued to tremble in his arms, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane. She could not reply through her sobs, so he held her and murmured softly to her, "Come on. Let me help you upstairs."_

"_The door..." she managed to gasp through her sobs. "L-L-Lock the d-door..."_

"_All right."_

_He crossed the room and reached for the deadbolt. He heard a muffled noise on the other side of the door a second before it came swinging out to slam into him, knocking him into the wall behind it. With a shriek, Lori ran up the stairs...and heavy footsteps followed her..._

* * *

He sat up in the bed, and the room swirled around him before settling into a mix of dim light and dark shadow. "Eames?"

There was no one else in the room. He looked toward the window. Night. Pushing aside the sheet and blanket, he got out of the bed and walked to the window. Cars drove by infrequently on the side street his room faced. He brushed his hand over his hair, which was damp with sweat. Gradually, he recalled the last conversation he'd had with Eames._ I'm sorry... _

What was he sorry for? Everything...but most of all, he was sorry she had fallen in love with him. He had never intended for that to happen, never expected it. He had no idea how to go about fixing it, either. When he went to prison, how was she going to deal with her loss? Recalling how much she still suffered over the loss of her husband, he dreaded the fact that she would have to face another loss like that. And yet, who did he think he was, daring to compare himself to Joe Dutton? Joe died a hero's death. He was going to go to prison and die alone, a disgraced cop lost among people he helped put away. Was it a death he deserved? Maybe. But Eames...she didn't deserve to suffer another loss. Yet he knew of no way to prevent it.

Silently, he searched the room until he found his clothes, and he got dressed. Without giving it another thought, he left the room. On the elevator ride to the first floor, he didn't give it a thought. Crossing the lobby, he left the hospital, and again, he didn't give it a second thought. He just wanted to go home, to sleep in his own bed. His keys were in the pocket of his jeans but his wallet wasn't with his clothes, so he had no cash. That made hailing a cab out of the question. He hesitated to call anyone at two in the morning and get them out of bed. So he braced himself against the cold of the midwinter night and started walking.

After walking for forty-five minutes in the bitter cold, he gave up and pulled his phone from his coat pocket. The battery was nearly depleted, but he made one last call for a ride home.

Twenty minutes later, a maroon sedan pulled up to the curb and he slid into the passenger seat, grateful for the warmth of the car's interior and the hot coffee held out to him by the driver. "What the hell is wrong with you?" Logan snapped as he pulled away from the curb. "You're supposed to be in the hospital."

Nauseous and still shivering, he answered, "I want to go home. I don't need to be in the hospital and it was all getting on my nerves."

"Alex is going to flay you alive, you know that?"

Goren shrugged. "I doubt it."

Logan raised his eyebrows. "Really? She sure sounded pissed when I talked to her."

Goren looked at him. "When you talked to her? You...you called her?"

"Yes, I called her. I'm not going to get my ass stomped because you're an idiot."

He slumped back in his seat with a groan. "What did she say?"

"Something along the lines of 'I'm going to kill him.'"

"Great. Thanks."

Logan made a left-hand turn. "Just how did you expect her to react when the hospital called her to tell her you were gone?"

"Did they?"

"Yeah, they did. She was worried sick about you, stupid."

Goren turned his attention to the streets beyond the car and said nothing more. Logan left him alone with his thoughts.

* * *

When Goren opened his apartment door, he was almost prepared for the sight of his partner standing in the middle of his living room, arms folded, face a mask of fury. He stopped in his tracks and Logan ran into his back, knocking him forward a few more steps in her direction. Logan peeked around him, took one look at Eames and said, "I'm gonna be going now. I'll see you this afternoon." He looked at Eames again. "Maybe."

He gave Goren's back a reassuring smack and hurried out the door back to his car.

Goren remained where he was for a few moments, turning over in his mind several different explanations before deciding the truth was his best bet. He raised his hands in a defensive gesture and moved toward the kitchen. "They were going to release me in the morning anyway. No harm done."

She did not relax her posture as she watched him slide out of his coat, drape it on the couch and disappear into the kitchen. She heard him rummaging about and knew he was stalling. She waited until he came back out with two coffee cups. He set one on the edge of the coffee table near her and sat on the couch with the other. Looking into his coffee, he waited in silence for her to say something...anything. He'd feel better if she moved...or blinked...or took a breath...

Finally, she did speak, and her voice trembled with raw emotion. "Everyone makes mistakes, Goren. Up until now, I didn't think I had, but maybe I was wrong. So you tell me how to undo the way I feel and I'll do it."

When he didn't respond or react, she moved. He released his hold on the coffee cup when she pulled it from his hands and slammed it on the coffee table. With both hands, she slammed him in the chest, knocking him flat on his back. Kneeling on his hips, she pressed her palms against his shoulders. "I am fed up with having one-way conversations, and I am damn sick of having my feelings thrown back in my face. It's time for you to take some responsibility, dammit. You are going to own up to your life, right now. You have two choices, Goren, and only two. Either you start putting some effort into making the best of this shit you've gotten yourself into or you tell me to step away and I will go. But keep in mind...even if you're acquitted, I won't be back. I will not say good-bye to you twice. So salvage your life right now or toss it to the wolves. I'm done fighting with you. The choice is yours."

She forced herself off him and walked away to stand in front of the window, arms folded tightly across her middle, tears streaming down her cheeks. She heard him move but she was surprised when a tentative hand brushed her shoulder. She pulled away, determined not to let him charm his way out of this. He brought his mouth close to her ear. "I can't change the way I feel any more than you can," he said softly. "I just wanted to protect you, to make it a little easier for you to let me go."

She dropped her chin to her chest and stifled a quiet sob, unable to keep her shoulders still as she tried to keep herself from crying. She shook her head adamantly. "I won't do it," she insisted as she continued to fight her emotions. "I won't."

"Do what?"

"I won't let you go."

He grasped her shoulder again, turning her toward him and pulling her into his arms. As he stood by the window in the glow of the streetlight, holding her to his chest as she finally surrendered and began to cry in his arms, he made up his mind. Lori Hodges was dead and he was not going to do time for her murder. His memory had started to release its hold on the events of that night and he was going to find the man who'd chased her up the stairs and took her life. He would always bear some guilt for her death, but he would not shoulder the blame. For Eames' sake more than his own, he was determined to find his acquittal somewhere--either with the jury or with the real killer, or both. He was not going to force her to say another good-bye that would shatter her life, even if he'd never meant to become so important to her. In saving his own life, he'd be saving hers as well.


	14. Haunted

_He hit the wall hard. Stunned, he used the wall for support as the room spun and dipped around him. Knowing he couldn't wait, he lurched away from the support and stumbled his way to the stairs. Grasping the handrail, he bounded up the stairs, fighting against the alcohol in his system for control of his body. His shoulder slammed into the wall as turned in the direction of the voices and rushed down the hall toward the bedroom. A horrified shriek rent the air, followed by Lori's voice, panicked, pleading. "Please, no... Don't... Nick..." _

_The voice that answered her was breathless, shaking with rage. "Shut up and take what's coming to you, bitch! No one, and I mean no one, tells me to take a hike! I get what I want, one way or another, and _I _call the shots, not you!"_

_As he reached the door, he heard a dull thud and a crash. The sound of wood splintering was followed by a whimper and another shriek, "Bobby!"_

"_He can't help you, honey. You gotta deal with me all on your own. You got no fucking white knight in that loser cop on the floor downstairs."_

_He crashed open the bedroom door. An antique dresser lay on its side, missing a leg, which the man hefted in his left hand as he approached Lori. Her hand covered a bleeding wound on the side of her head, and her mouth was swollen and bleeding. She was sobbing and cowering away from the man she called Nick. _

_He stumbled toward them and the man turned away from Lori. He stopped his advance when he met the man's eyes, frozen for a moment, stunned by the familiar face that glared at him from beyond the countenance of twisted rage. He swayed a little, weighing his options. There would be no talking his way out of this one, and he was unarmed. _

_The muscles in Nick's arm flexed as he moved away from Lori, raising the wooden leg with a primal growl. He swung the leg around in a powerful arc. He barely dodged the swipe of the weapon, and Nick crashed into the dresser, sending bottles of perfume, makeup, combs and brushes, and other accoutrements scattering across the carpeted floor. _

_He slammed into Nick before he could regain his feet and they crashed to the floor near the window. Adrenaline cleared his head and he delivered several solid punches to Nick's trunk. Nick twisted suddenly and kicked, slamming his head against the wall and stunning him again. He could feel warm blood running down the side of his face as Nick scrambled away from him. He struggled to his feet, swaying unsteadily as the room wavered. He shook his head, clearing it enough to duck the next assault. The wood of the dresser's leg cracked as it slammed into the wall near his head and splintered._

_He caught the movement of another person out of the corner of his eye and turned. Lori had made her way to the closet and now came at them, wielding a baseball bat. No, no, no..! He'd given her a chance to get away! Why hadn't she taken it? "Lori!"_

_Too late...Nick grabbed her arm, twisting it with brutal force and dislodging the bat from her grip. He heard the bone snap and Lori screamed in agony. He charged at Nick again..._

* * *

He sat up, shouting "No!" Breathing hard, he was drenched in sweat and trembling uncontrollably. He braced his elbows on his knees and locked his hands behind his neck, struggling to calm the hammering of his heart. The nightmare slipped away from him, lost once more in the mists of a memory not quite prepared to release all its details to his conscious mind. He drew in slow, deep breaths to calm himself.

The hall light went on. "Bobby?"

He couldn't respond. A gentle hand slid across his shoulders and gently rubbed his back as she lowered herself to the couch beside him. "What's wrong?"

He lowered his feet to the floor and pushed aside the light blanket, rubbing the back of his neck as his breathing and heart rate gradually returned to normal. "It-It's fine," he murmured as he got up and went into the kitchen.

She followed him, watching with concern as he held a glass under the stream of water from the faucet, still trembling. When he took a drink, some of the water spilled onto his shirt. Stepping up to him, she took the glass before it slipped from his hand. "Maybe we should take you back to the hospital," she suggested, unable to conceal deep concern.

He shook his head adamantly. "No. I'm fine. I just...had a nightmare. It's nothing unusual."

She studied him skeptically. "This...happens a lot?"

"A lot more than I'd like, yes. It's not usually this bad...but it happens."

His skin was clammy with a sheen of sweat and he felt a little unsteady. Taking the glass from the counter, he finished the water and reached over to set it in the sink. It slid from his fingers and clattered into the sink, but it didn't break. Brushing past Eames, he returned to the couch and dropped onto it.

She followed him. "What was it about?" she asked, easing herself into the nearby recliner.

He shrugged. "I don't remember now."

She watched his face and knew he wasn't brushing her off. "Is there anything I can do?"

Slowly, he shook his head. "Go back to bed, Eames. I'm sorry I woke you."

She hesitated for a moment, watching him lean back and close his eyes. He was shutting down and she was uncertain. She wanted to help him, but she didn't know how. "Why don't you go into the bedroom and lay down on the bed?" she asked.

He waved a hand in the air. "I'm not going to get back to sleep, but you can get another hour or two. Go on."

She twisted her hands together. "I don't think so," she answered. "I'm up now. I'll just...sit here."

He knew what she was doing and he appreciated it, but he didn't want to put her out in any way. He lifted his head to look at her. "Eames...I...I appreciate that you want to help, but believe me when I tell you there's nothing you can do."

"Sure there is. I'll sit here and keep you company, at least until I have to head in to the squad room in another..." She looked at the clock. "Two hours."

He opened his mouth to protest, but changed his mind, dropping his head back again. "Have it your way," he conceded.

She decided to take him at his word and she rose, moving over to the couch to sit beside him. Tentatively, she reached out her hand and stroked his sweat-dampened hair. Again, he opened his mouth to protest, but decided not to. As she had once before, she caressed his hair and watched him relax before guiding his head down to her lap.

He offered only a token resistance before giving in. He had no energy to fight with her. He studied her face until it faded away as he drifted to sleep. She continued to stroke his hair, occasionally allowing her fingers to stray to his face, until she had to get ready to leave. She got dressed for work and jotted a note for him, leaving it tucked under his wallet, which she'd brought home from the hospital for safekeeping after his admission. It never occurred to her that he would leave in the middle of a bitterly cold night and try walking home. Stubborn ass. She covered him with the blanket and left him asleep on the couch, hoping his nightmare would not return in her absence.

* * *

He woke to an empty apartment just before eleven. His head was pounding. Rising, he went into the bathroom and showered. Shuffling through his closet, he chose a dark blue suit with a light blue shirt and a solid navy tie. Laying them on the bed, he returned to the bathroom and shaved. Back in the bedroom, he looked at the small assortment of aftershave bottles on his dresser. Without thinking, he chose the one he knew Eames liked best.

Once he was dressed, he pulled on a pair of black socks, slipped into his shoes and slid a plain silver tie clip into place. He pocketed his wallet and grabbed his phone, which Eames had plugged in to charge. It didn't occur to him to wonder how she knew it needed to be charged. He picked up her note and read it.

_Bobby,  
__I'm glad you got some more rest. We'll see you this afternoon in court. It convenes at one. Call me if you want me to pick you up.  
Alex_

With a small smile, he set the note back on the counter, picked up his keys and left the apartment.

* * *

Barry Moredock smiled and extended his hand toward Goren as he approached the defense table at the front of the courtroom. "Alex said you were feeling better."

"I'm fine, Mr. Moredock," he replied, accepting the lawyer's outstretched hand.

"Did they tell you Dennis Bergeron accepted Jack McCoy's deal to avoid a trial of his own on those assault charges?"

"No."

"One year commuted to three years' probation and 500 hours of community service in an underprivileged community. He has no priors."

Goren shrugged. "Of course he doesn't. He has deep pockets, Mr. Moredock. He can make things go away."

Moredock smiled. "Not this time."

"He's going to hate the community service part of the deal."

"It will be good for him. Be prepared, Bobby. He might be here in the gallery today."

With a nod, Goren said, "I have nothing against him. And Judge Boucher won't tolerate any disruptions in her courtroom."

Moredock studied him as he sat heavily, pressing his fingers against his temple and rubbing. He pulled up his chair and touched Goren's arm. "Are you feeling all right?"

Goren waved a hand in the air dismissively. "Just a headache. I had trouble sleeping. I'm fine."

Moredock looked away as Carver joined him at the table. "Good afternoon, Barry." He leaned forward and addressed Goren. "I'm glad to see you here, detective. How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thank you, Mr. Carver."

"Are you ready for this?"

"I have no choice, do I?"

The former ADA gave him a smile of encouragement. "Good point. Try not to worry too much."

Goren's mouth twitched a little. "I'm not worried," he assured him.

Carver wasn't sure if that was a testament to his faith in his legal counsel or an admission of his resignation to his fate. He hoped it was the former. Turning his attention to Moredock, the two attorneys conferred in hushed tones.

Goren pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled heavily. He was standing trial for a murder he did not commit, the outcome of which was anything but certain. Maybe he wasn't up for this, but he knew he had no choice. Here it was, in his face, ready to get underway...

He was drawn from his thoughts when a pair of hands came to rest on his shoulders, squeezing lightly. Eames leaned across the bar to bring her head closer to his. "How do you feel?"

"Other than a headache, not horrible."

"You shouldn't have left the hospital."

His hand flitted dismissively near his head. "It's no worse than it was while I was there."

She moved and he could feel her breath tickle his ear. "Trying to walk home in the middle of a winter night was not the brightest thing to do."

"I won't argue with you."

She patted his shoulder. "Smart man." The activity level around them increased and she squeezed again. "We'll talk later."

She withdrew, leaving him feeling oddly empty. He resisted the urge to turn toward the gallery to seek her out. Moments later, the court was called to order and Boucher exited her chambers to take her place on the bench. Her eyes scanned the room, finally coming to rest on Goren. "Detective Goren, I am pleased to see you here this afternoon. I trust you are doing well?"

"Yes, thank you, your honor."

"Very good."

She shifted her eyes to Moredock and then McCoy. "Are we ready to proceed, gentlemen?"

When the men agreed they were, she said, "The floor is yours then, Mr. McCoy."

The trial got underway.


	15. The Trial Begins

Jack McCoy scanned his list of witnesses and rose to his feet, calling forth the first person on the list: Captain Daniel Ross. Goren rubbed his temple again. _Let the character assassination commence_, he thought bitterly.

Ross crossed the bar and approached the witness stand, appearing as calm and collected as he always did. McCoy withdrew several papers from a stack on his table and turned toward the stand. He handed the pages to Ross, who took them and glanced over them through the page protectors they were set inside. McCoy asked, "These pages have been entered into evidence as People's Exhibit A. Do you recognize them?"

"I do," Ross answered.

"Explain to the court what they are."

"They are Detective Goren's performance reviews for the past two years, since I became captain of Major Case."

"And what do they say?"

Ross sighed. "Goren is an effective officer," he said simply, to McCoy's consternation.

"Keep going, captain."

Ross hesitated for a moment. "When I took over command of the Major Case Squad, I did so with certain...preconceived notions. Detective Goren resented me, and I prejudged him without giving him a fair chance."

"Why do you think he resented you, Captain Ross?"

Ross looked at the prosecutor, not intimidated by his aggressive, no-nonsense manner. "Detective Goren had a close working relationship with his former captain, James Deakins. When Captain Deakins retired, he had difficulty adapting to the change."

"Would you read the highlighted portion of the first evaluation please?"

Ross looked at the yellow ink on the page in front of him and hesitated. McCoy waited. "Captain?"

Ross finally answered, "It says 'Detective Goren's hostile and explosive attitude makes working with him difficult'."

"Is it true he was recently suspended from duty?"

"Yes, that's true."

"Would you tell the court why?"

Ross refused to appear uncomfortable, even though he was. "He took it upon himself to go undercover in a prison out of his jurisdiction to investigate serious allegations by a prisoner from that facility."

"Thank you, captain."

Goren didn't react to Ross' testimony. It seemed to him the captain was trying to answer McCoy's questions honestly while attempting at the same time to put him in the best possible light. That was not an easy task. He had to admit he and Ross got off to a rocky start, but he thought things had improved since his mother's death. Maybe he was right.

Moredock studied his legal pad before rising from his seat. "Captain Ross, what is your professional opinion of Detective Goren's effectiveness as a police officer?"

Ross seemed to relax a little. "Detective Goren is an ethical officer, determined to bring justice to the victims of the crimes we investigate. His methods can be unorthodox, but they are effective."

"Does he abuse his position of authority as a detective?"

"No. Never. My issues with Goren have never involved his investigative style or the results he and his partner get. My problems with him have been with his attitude, not his actions."

"What do you have to say about the admitted rocky start you had when you took over as captain of his squad?"

Ross considered his answer carefully. "I contributed to the difficulties of our professional relationship as much as he did. Since then, things have smoothed out and we have a much improved working relationship."

"Do you consider him to be volatile or dangerous?"

"I consider him to be unpredictable, but not violent and certainly not dangerous. I have come to understand him better and I respect him."

"Thank you, Captain Ross."

Goren was surprised by Ross' testimony. He appreciated the captain's honesty and was surprised to learn that Ross had come to respect him. He didn't feel that McCoy gained anything or that he lost anything by the things that Ross said. It could have been much worse.

McCoy called Dennis Bergeron to the stand next. Goren pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes against the pounding across his skull. His headache had not abated but he attributed it to tension. His situation certainly could not get much more tense than it already was. He would prefer to be looking down the barrel of a loaded gun. At least that was a situation over which he had some control of the outcome. He trusted his own negotiating skills a lot more than he did the judgment of twelve people who would know him only through the testimony of men like Bergeron.

Dennis Bergeron stepped onto the stand and was sworn in. McCoy began. "Mr. Bergeron, where were you the night your wife was murdered?"

"I was in Chicago on business."

"Do you know Robert Goren?"

"I know who he is, yes. My wife spoke of him from time to time over the years, until she became involved in an affair with him."

"Objection," Moredock rose from his seat. "That is speculation."

"This line of questioning is relevant to the testimony of this witness, your honor."

Boucher gave it some consideration before answering, "Overruled. Proceed carefully, Mr. McCoy."

McCoy turned back to Bergeron. "You claim your wife was having an affair with the defendant?"

The stockbroker nodded. "That's right. When I confronted her about it, she did not deny it. I demanded that she end the affair. When she did, he killed her."

Moredock made a move to rise but Goren reached past Carver to grab his arm. He leaned closer and muttered, "I want to hear what he has to say."

The lawyer whispered back, "Don't forget the jury is listening, too."

Goren nodded. "I'll take that chance."

Moredock remained in his seat.

McCoy paced slowly in front of the stand. "Why do you think it was Goren?"

"From the way Lori always talked about him. I never liked that." His voice began to tremble with a combination of grief and rage. "I saw her...with him...and I confronted her. She never denied it was him!"

"You're certain about this, Mr. Bergeron?"

"Absolutely. I _know_ she was involved with him. If you'd ever heard her talk about him..." He shuddered at the memory of the affection in his wife's tone whenever she mentioned Goren. "You would know, too."

"You think she loved him?"

Bergeron snorted. "I know she did. And when she broke it off, he couldn't bear finally losing her to me once and for all, so he killed her! His blood was found all over my bedroom, along with hers! He killed her!"

"Objection!" Moredock demanded, deciding they had heard enough.

"No more questions," McCoy said, withdrawing to his seat as Moredock stepped away from the table.

"Mr. Bergeron, did you ever actually see your wife with the defendant?"

"I thought I did."

"But did you?"

Bergeron looked at his hands. "No. I was mistaken."

"Couldn't you also have been mistaken about the affair?"

The man's head snapped up. "No! I am convinced she was having an affair with him! And he killed her! His blood..."

"Yes, yes, we heard you the first time," Moredock interrupted. "You were recently arrested, Mr. Bergeron. Why?"

Bergeron's face turned scarlet and his voice showed the strain. "They say I assaulted Goren."

"'They' say? Who says?"

"The damn cops. I always hated cops and I hated that Lori had any association with the lot of them. Friends...ha!"

Moredock was certain the man would have spat on the floor if he could have gotten away with it. "Do you deny the charges?"

"I don't deny that I hit him, but I dispute the interpretation. I was charged with assaulting a police officer. I should have been given a medal for decking a murderer."

"But you pleaded guilty."

"Only to hitting him. Community service. What a crock."

Moredock had made his point. "No more questions."

He returned to his place beside Carver as McCoy called Elizabeth Olivet to the stand. Goren groaned, recalling some of the things he had confessed to Olivet. He was on trial for murder and he doubted that doctor-patient privilege applied to a department-ordered psychiatric evaluation. This just got worse and worse for him.

"Dr. Olivet," McCoy began as he withdrew another couple of papers from his pile. "You evaluated Detective Goren after his suspension to determine his suitability for duty. How many times have you evaluated him, including this last one?"

"Four times in the last ten years."

He placed the pages in front of her. "Your evaluations," he explained. "Please read the highlighted passage from the last evaluation."

She read, "'Detective Goren's anger issues may eventually lead to problems in his personal and professional life unless properly addressed by an appropriate professional'."

"Please elaborate, Dr. Olivet. Anger issues?"

Olivet looked toward Goren, who was frowning in her direction. "Detective Goren has a tendency to internalize his conflicts rather than deal with them directly," she said.

"Does this concern you?"

She nodded. "Yes. The stress of dealing with internalized anger can come forth explosively under the right circumstances."

"What circumstances might cause that to happen?"

"That is impossible to predict. Everyone is different, Mr. McCoy. I couldn't possibly predict what his breaking point might be."

McCoy nodded slowly as he took Olivet's written evaluations back to place into evidence as People's Exhibit B. "But he does have a breaking point?"

"Everyone has a breaking point."

"Did Lori Hodges ever come up in your sessions?"

She shook her head. "No."

"But he did discuss other people in his life with you?"

"Only the people closest to him in the context of the support they have offered him since his mother's death."

"Are you still seeing him, Dr. Olivet?"

"No. My evaluation is complete, but I told him that my door is always open to him if he feels the need."

McCoy drew in a deep breath as he slowly nodded his head. "Could rage drive him to kill?"

Olivet considered the question. "My evaluation of him revealed a man who feels emotion strongly but has a driven need for control in his life. Not control of others, but of himself." She paused. "Any person can reach a point where they would snap, but I have found Detective Goren to be particularly resilient. I have never viewed him as a killer and I don't now."

"Would you alter your opinion, knowing he consumed a significant amount of alcohol?"

"No. I would not. Alcohol tends to drive this man toward melancholy, not violence."

"What do you know about his pattern of alcohol consumption?"

"By his own report, I know he tends to use it to self-medicate and as a coping mechanism, but there is no indication that alcohol interferes with the functional aspects of his life."

"Committing a murder while intoxicated is not an interference in a functional aspect of his life?"

"It would be if he committed a murder."

"Dr. Olivet, it is possible that he snapped and killed Lori Hodges?"

Olivet's face became dark. "Anything is possible, Mr. McCoy," she finally admitted.

McCoy paced briefly, gathering his thoughts. "Dr. Olivet, isn't it true that adults who were abused as children have a greater tendency toward violence than adults who were not?"

"That can be true, however, it's impossible to make global statements about human nature. Abused children often do grow up to repeat the patterns of their childhood. They become violent as adults and carry that over into their interpersonal relationships. But that is not always the case. Some abused children are able to overcome their pasts and break that cycle of abuse. Most achieve that through therapy. Some are intuitive enough to recognize it on their own and work through it without professional help. I should also point out that a good number of violent, abusive adults come from good, stable homes and suffered no abuse as children."

"Where would you place Detective Goren on that spectrum?"

Olivet looked toward the defense table, where Goren was watching her with interest. They had touched upon his upbringing in their sessions, however, he had avoided going into detail about his childhood. She shifted her gaze toward McCoy and asked, "What makes you think he was abused, Mr. McCoy?"

McCoy had been expecting that. He walked to the table and took a thick folder from Rubirosa, holding it up. Exhibit C. "These are copies we made from medical records we gathered from several Brooklyn hospitals and the archived records of four now-retired physicians. They are dated from early 1964 through the end of 1979. We only copied traumatic injuries—broken bones, concussions, extensive bruising and other injuries that could be indicative of abuse." He accepted a second, much thinner file from his assistant. "These are copies of similar injuries from another set of records dated from mid 1961 through late 1976."

He approached the witness stand with the files as Goren sat up straighter in his chair. McCoy set down the thinner file in front of Olivet. "These records belong to Frank Goren." He set the thicker file on top of it. "And these belong to his younger brother, Robert."

Olivet remained impassive as she waited for McCoy to make his point. The prosecutor placed his hands on top of the files. "So...do we have an inordinately clumsy child, a kid who was frequently targeted by a gang of local street punks, or an abused child who fell through the cracks and was failed by an overworked system?"

Olivet looked at the files and then at Goren before she answered, "I am not in a position to make that assessment at this point. I would have to review these records and talk with Robert."

"Come on, Dr. Olivet. You've talked to him. You know he was raised by an alcoholic gambler and a schizophrenic mother. You have an idea. What is your opinion?" He slammed his hand down on the records. "Who broke this child's bones? Who beat him on a fairly regular basis?"

At the defense table, Carver brought a cautionary hand to rest on Goren's arm. Olivet could see the tension in his body. Behind him, she noticed his partner, sitting forward, expectant, ready to move if she felt it necessary. Olivet wondered what she was anticipating. "Mr. McCoy, ethically, I am unable to answer your question. As my patient..."

McCoy interrupted. "Detective Goren is not your patient. You performed a mandated psychiatric evaluation for the police department. Doctor-patient privilege does not apply. You cannot protect him, Dr. Olivet. Answer my question."

When she continued to hesitate, Boucher spoke up. "Answer the question, doctor."

Olivet looked toward the defense table again, her expression conveying her regret to Goren, who acknowledged her with a slight incline of his head. She released a sigh of resignation. "I believe it was his parents. He is one of too many children who got by the system, but he is one of the few who overcame his past and broke the cycle on his own."

"Thank you, Dr. Olivet."

He returned to his seat. Moredock stepped in front of his table and walked back and forth a few paces. "Dr. Olivet, you said anything is possible. How likely is it that Detective Goren murdered this woman he once cared about?"

Olivet silently considered the question. "Detective Goren does not have many people in his life that he cares about. I find it difficult to believe he would harm one of them in any way."

"The prosecution contends he is a latently violent man. What is your take on that assessment?"

"Every person has a propensity for violence inside them. That makes every one of us latently violent. Police officers deal with violence more than most people by the very nature of their occupation. Detective Goren has a lot of anger that he has to come to terms with, but he is not a violent man and his record bears that out."

"Thank you, Dr. Olivet."

Moredock returned to his place as Olivet stepped down from the stand, to be replaced by her colleague, Emil Skoda. Skoda's testimony was no different than Olivet's and his professional assessment of Goren's fitness for duty concurred with hers. He also agreed with her assessment of his abusive past, his anger issues and choices of coping mechanisms, and his tendency to avoid violence as a response to the circumstances around him.

After Skoda stepped down from the stand, Boucher called a thirty minute recess. Moredock leaned forward to look at Goren, who propped his elbow on the arm of his chair and rubbed his temple, eyes closed. Carver reached out and touched his arm, drawing his attention. He looked at the two attorneys, eyes glazed with pain. Moredock frowned, concerned. "Are you all right, son?"

Goren nodded. "I'm fine."

A hand touched the back of his neck and he turned. Eames handed him a cup of coffee and a bagel with cream cheese. Then she held out her left hand, closed into a fist. Curious, he extended his hand to receive what she had to offer. She dropped two tablets in his hand and he looked up, questioning. She explained, "I talked to your doctor this morning. He said to expect residual headaches which could be severe. I filled the prescription he gave me. Eat your bagel and take the pills."

He studied her, an odd look on his face. She raised her eyebrows. "What?"

Shaking his head, he murmured, "Nothing. Thank you, Eames."

She offered an affectionate smile and lightly stroked the back of his hand. As he turned to eat the bagel and take the medication, Eames moved over to talk to Moredock and Carver. "What do you think?" she asked.

"It's nothing I didn't expect," Moredock assured her.

Carver, who had been watching the jurors' reactions to the testimony, said, "The jury doesn't know what to think at this point. So far, so good." He nodded toward Goren. "A little food was a good idea."

"I think the pain medicine I gave him will do him more good."

Carver considered her for a moment before speaking something he'd thought for years. "He's lucky he has you to watch out for him."

Eames gave him a small, sad smile. "Don't let him know that," she cautioned, half serious.

She returned to her seat beside Logan, watching Goren. He finished the bagel and swallowed the medicine just before the court was called to order and Boucher returned to the bench. McCoy's next witness was Lewis Ruzicki.


	16. An Unexpected Witness

Goren tried not to react when McCoy called Lewis to the stand. He knew this was where McCoy would choose to bring out the matter of the robbery that was in his juvenile record, and he tried to prepare himself for that. Lewis never knew the entire story, and he was afraid that might come around now to bite him in the ass.

"Mr. Ruzicki," McCoy began. "How do you know the defendant?"

"We grew up in the same neighborhood."

"Were you friends?"

Lewis looked past McCoy toward the defense table. "Yeah. We were best friends...and we're still friends."

When McCoy turned toward his table and picked up a file folder, Goren thought, _Here it comes_. The prosecutor tapped the file on his closed fist. "1977," he began. "How old were you guys then?"

Lewis was immediately suspicious of the friendly manner. "We were sixteen."

"What happened during the fall of that year?"

"Nothing much," Lewis answered.

_Not a lie,_ Goren reflected. The first half of their junior year had been boring for Lewis without him around.

McCoy opened the file. "Really? Let me be a little more specific. Just after Thanksgiving...does that mean anything to you?"

Lewis shook his head. "My Uncle Henry came to visit for the holidays."

Goren chuckled under his breath, but he wished Lewis would get on with it. He didn't want him to get into any trouble on his account. He had enough on his conscience.

At the prosecutor's table, Rubirosa hid a smile of her own. She liked Lewis and she admired his loyalty to his friend. Goren did not have many friends, but the few he chose were deeply loyal. She glanced at the defense table, where Goren and his two lawyers watched McCoy trying to pull information from a reluctant Lewis. Behind Goren she saw Eames and Logan, both looking apprehensive. It dawned on her then that they knew what was coming. He'd actually told them about his deeply troubled past, and they still stood by him. Yes, he chose his friends well. He also had more character than Jack gave him credit for. Jack was confident this revelation would rattle Moredock, knowing the defense attorney would not have had time to prepare for what he had seen in the copies of the old court records he'd sent to his office that morning. Rubirosa allowed herself a small smile. This would prove interesting. She looked back toward the witness stand. She was a professional, and she would do her job, however unpleasant it might be, but she still felt strongly that they were prosecuting the wrong man. Unfortunately, she lacked the proof to back up her gut feeling, and Jack was out for blood.

McCoy held up the file. "Kensington, Brooklyn. December 7th, 1977 at the home of Jeremy Caulfield. Mr. Ruzicki?"

Lewis shrugged. "I wasn't there."

"Why not?"

"Bobby and I kind of drifted apart that summer. He was bored with his life, so he went looking for something more. He fell in with a group of his brother's old friends. They were nothing but trouble. I tried talking to him, but..." He shrugged.

"So what happened on December 7th in Kensington?"

Lewis looked at his hands. "Bobby got into some trouble. They...broke into a home and...things went bad."

"Went bad how?" McCoy pressed.

When Lewis looked in his direction, Goren inclined his head, conveying reassurance. It really was all right. He knew this was going to come out, and Moredock was prepared.

Lewis read the reassurance in Goren's manner, but he didn't want to be the one to rat out his oldest friend. McCoy, however, was giving him no choice. "Answer the question, Mr. Ruzicki."

Lewis sighed. "A guy got killed," he said. "But Bobby didn't do it."

"You said you weren't there. How do you know he didn't?"

Lewis struggled to control his temper. "Because he told me he didn't. Bobby never lied to me. The guy who lived there came down the stairs and two of the guys Bobby was with got the jump on him." He raised his hand and pointed toward the defense table. "He's never been a violent guy! He was big enough to take his mom by the time he was twelve, but he never did! He may have been there, but he didn't kill anyone! You don't know him, man!"

Judge Boucher leaned toward the stand. "Calm down, Mr. Ruzicki."

He looked at her. "But you don't understand!"

"I understand that you need to calm down."

Lewis leaned back in his chair and took a few deep breaths. McCoy looked pleased with himself. "That's all for now."

He returned to his place, nodding at Moredock, who smiled pleasantly. "I have nothing at the moment, but I reserve the right to recall the witness."

Boucher excused Lewis from the stand, and he stepped down, hesitating for a moment beside the defense table. Again Goren nodded at him, but Lewis was not reassured. He returned to his place in the gallery, miserable.

McCoy rose. "I would like to call one more witness this afternoon, your honor."

She nodded. "Go ahead, Mr. McCoy."

"The people call Gretchen Caulfield to the stand."

Goren's face paled as a slender woman in her mid-fifties took the stand. She was nicely dressed, very proper, but her pretty face showed the stress of dealing with the grief of a tragedy now three decades old.

McCoy began. "Mrs. Caulfield, we heard a secondhand account from a friend of the defendant. Would you please tell the court from your perspective what happened the night of December 7th, 1977?"

She folded her hands in her lap and looked only at McCoy. "A group of street thugs broke into my home and they took away my husband and the father of my children. They destroyed my life."

"Why was your husband home alone that night?"

"On December second, we left New York to spend the month in Aspen. Something came up and Jeremy had to come home for a few days to take care of business. He was supposed to return to Colorado on the eighth. They took his life before he could come back to us."

"How old were your children?"

"Robbie was four and Carrie was two."

McCoy dropped the file on the table and turned back toward the stand. "Were there any long-standing repercussions of your loss?"

Moredock rose to his feet. "Your honor, what is the purpose of this witness, other than to garner sympathy for her loss?"

Boucher looked at McCoy, who replied, "I am establishing precedent, your honor."

She gave it some thought, then said, "I'll allow it, for the moment."

"Thank you." He turned back to the witness. "Go ahead and answer my question, Mrs. Caulfield."

She drew in a steadying breath. "I raised my children on my own, without their father, and they suffered for that loss because Jeremy was a wonderful father. I cannot celebrate Christmas. Not a day goes by that I don't miss him. I never got over his death, Mr. McCoy. "

"And the defendant was involved in taking him from you."

Tears spilled down her cheeks as she nodded but she refused to look toward the defense table. McCoy stepped away from the stand. "Thank you, Mrs. Caulfield."

Goren ran a shaking hand through his hair. Behind him, Eames trembled with rage. She desperately wanted to reach out and touch him, to reassure him and remind him that he was not alone, but she knew it would not be welcome. So she remained where she was, hands fisted in her lap.

Moredock looked at Carver. They'd trumped McCoy with their knowledge of the juvenile record, but this was unexpected. Gretchen Caulfield had not been on McCoy's original witness list. She was on the revised list that arrived at the office that morning and they'd had no time to investigate or prepare. They still had one up on him, though. McCoy didn't seem to know about the shooting. He rose from his seat and approached the witness stand.

Moredock began, "It was a terrible loss to bear. Did you attend the trial of the young men who robbed your home?"

"Yes, I did."

"Were you aware that one of those boys did not stand trial?"

She nodded. "The DA cut him a deal because of his age."

"That was not entirely true. There were other extenuating circumstances that led the DA to give him a second chance. How did your husband die?"

"He was hit in the head with a fireplace poker and then shot in the chest."

He retrieved a file from his table but did not open it. "Mrs. Caulfield, my client was there that night. He was several years younger than the rest of the gang, so he served as the lookout while the others robbed your home. When your husband came down to investigate, and the other young men attacked him, young Robert stood up to his companions and defended him. One of them shot him for his trouble before killing your husband."

McCoy lurched to his feet. "Objection! Your Honor, we have found no evidence of this theory Mr. Moredock is postulating!"

Boucher looked at Moredock. "Mr. Moredock?"

With a sly smile, Moredock held up the file in his hand. "The evidence is right here, your honor." Sliding out the contents of the folder, he handed them to the witness. "The first page is an emergency room record dated after midnight, December 8th, 1977, for sixteen-year-old Robert Goren, who had a gunshot wound to his lower left abdomen. The record clearly states he was in police custody and released into the custody of his father later that morning. The following pages are the original police report and the statements of the young men involved in the murder that night. For some reason, none of these documents made it into his juvenile record. The hospital he was taken to was in Manhattan, not Brooklyn, so it was not among the medical records Mr. McCoy so meticulously searched to support his allegations of abuse. Robert was given a break because of his actions, not because of his age. He knew he should not have been there to start with, but he did the right thing when it came down to the wire. He was outnumbered and injured, which is why he failed. But what matters, what _should _matter, is the fact that he had the courage to stand up to the older boys he was with. What matters is that he tried to save the life of the victim and in turn became a victim himself."

Gretchen Caulfield studied the thirty-year-old emergency room report in her hands. Then she looked through the police reports. For the first time, she looked toward the defense table. "They never told me about the circumstances surrounding that boy's deal or why they offered it to him. All these years, I assumed it was because he was so young and I resented the fact that he received such a light punishment for such a serious crime. I never knew that one of those boys actually tried to save Jeremy."

"That was a disservice to you. They should have told you."

She handed Moredock the papers, which he put into the folder and handed to McCoy. "This does set a precedent," Moredock said. "But I don't think it's one the people intended to set. Thank you, Mrs. Caulfield."

He returned to his place as Gretchen Caulfield stepped from the stand. Goren would not look in her direction. His hand strayed over the old injury in his side before he absently scratched the healing knife wound he'd gotten the night Lori was killed. He'd spent thirty years trying not to think of that particular victim's family. Justice, in some cases, was simply not enough to assuage the painful loss some families felt. That was the case with Jeremy Caulfield's family and the raw pain of the guilt he'd carried all these years, once dulled, returned with a vengeance.

One of the guys involved that night, the one who'd pulled the trigger, had died in jail. Two of the others had been paroled and ended up back at Riker's within a year of their release. The last guy had been paroled as well, but before he could do anything to get tossed back in the can, he was killed in a car accident. He alone had done something positive with his life, but that did not atone for the events of that night in his mind, especially not after hearing Gretchen Caulfield's testimony.

Boucher adjourned the court until nine in the morning. The jury would have the night to digest what they'd heard, and they would begin forming their opinions of Goren. It could still go either way for him.

Carver leaned toward him. "That could have been very bad for you. Barry did a good job of salvaging the widow's testimony. Try not to worry."

Goren shook his head. "I'm still not worried, Mr. Carver. It's going to play out the way it will."

Carver squeezed his shoulder. "We'll see you in the morning, Detective."

"Good night, sir," he replied, knowing his night was going to be anything but good.

Moredock gripped his arm. "We effectively blind-sided Jack McCoy, and that is not an easy thing to do. This went well for you today. I'll see you first thing in the morning. Try to get some rest."

Goren nodded and watched the two lawyers walk off together before he reluctantly turned toward the gallery, knowing Eames was behind him, waiting. He wasn't wrong. She leaned toward him and he moved closer, avoiding eye contact. "Let's get something decent to eat," she said softly. "My treat."

"I don't know..."

"Please."

He finally nodded, even though he had no appetite. He had little resistance when she said 'please'. Draping his coat over his arm, he joined her in the aisle of the gallery and let her precede him toward the back of the courtroom, stopping when a hand touched his arm. Turning, he found himself facing Gretchen Caulfield. A young couple stood behind her, and he guessed they were her children. A maelstrom of emotion assaulted him all at once and he felt nauseous. He was barely aware of the hand that Eames brought to rest against his back. Gretchen had not withdrawn her hand from his arm. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Finally, he broke the prolonged silence. "Mrs. Caulfield...I...I am still very sorry for your loss."

"I never knew...what you did for Jeremy. I wish someone had told me."

He looked toward the floor. "I...I'm sorry...I couldn't save him."

She stepped closer and leaned up to kiss his cheek. "It's enough that you tried, that someone did something for him that night."

The young woman stepped up to her mother's side. "You took a bullet for my dad?"

"I wish...I wish I could have saved him. It's a failure I've had to live with and it's something I never got past."

Gretchen studied him for a moment. "You grew up and made something of yourself, something good. If Jeremy's death had a hand in that, then maybe his death was not entirely in vain."

She stepped away from him and walked off, followed by her son and daughter. Goren dropped his chin to his chest until Eames gripped his arm and rubbed her hand on his back. "It sounds like she forgives you," she said.

"That's easier said than done," he murmured, stepping away from her and walking toward the doors.

She knew exactly what he meant and she wondered if he would ever be able to forgive himself...for anything.

* * *

Eames finished wiping down the kitchen counters, rinsing the sponge in hot water and setting it on the back of the sink. Dinner had been a mostly silent affair. Every attempt she made to draw him into conversation failed. He managed to eat half of his dinner; the other half was now sitting in a styrofoam container in the refrigerator. She dried her hands on a towel and left the kitchen.

She walked down the hallway without turning on the light and softly rapped on the bedroom door, slowly pushing it open. He was standing by the window, his body outlined by the glow from the streetlight which, along with the display on the clock beside his bed, was the only light in the room. She stood in the doorway, silently watching him as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. He lifted his glass to his mouth and drained it, placing the empty glass on the windowsill. Turning from the window, he approached her. She didn't know what to say, not certain there was anything she could say.

He reached out his hand, fingering a stray lock of hair before he tucked it behind her ear. Gently, he weaved his fingers into her hair and guided her closer. She could smell the smoky odor of the scotch on his breath a moment before his mouth claimed hers and she could taste it on his probing tongue. Sliding her arms around him, she teased his tongue, offering no resistance when he began moving toward the bed. She sensed the desperate need that drove him, and she surrendered to him, willingly and completely.


	17. Breakthrough

_His mind was still blurry, and the only thought in it was to save Lori. He yanked Nick away from her, and spun him toward the wall. He met Lori's eyes for one brief, distracted moment. He saw her terror through the pain as she held her fractured arm against her body. "Please..." she whispered. "Help me..."_

_Nick's body slammed full force into his, and he was barely able to shift their trajectory enough to avoid crashing into her. His head struck the wall again, leaving a smear of blood behind. He didn't get up as quickly this time, and Nick took advantage of his daze to assault Lori again. He staggered to his feet before his mind cleared. Nick had Lori pinned to the bed with his hips and one hand. With the other hand, he tore away her clothing and punched her. He grabbed Nick around the neck and lurched away from the bed, ignoring the man's howl of fury as they hit the window, shattering it against his back. Glass shards rained around them. Nick's elbow crashed into his side and he grunted, but he kept his grip and hurled the man to the floor, getting in a solid punch to the side of his face. But fury and adrenaline are a lethal mix and the blow barely phased him._

_He never knew where the knife came from, but he felt the blade slice open his side. Reflexively, his hand grabbed the wound. Blood, sticky and warm, flowed over his fingers. He struggled to his feet again, slamming into the wall as he tried to get to Lori. The room was spinning and starting to fade in and out, but he managed to grab Nick. Seconds before his arm closed around the man's neck, Lori's screams faded to a gurgle and fell silent. "No!"_

He rolled off the couch to his knees, reeling from the nightmare, his head pounding, stomach lurching. When he hauled himself to his feet, the room tilted and he stumbled back into the couch, collapsing onto it. He buried his face in the cushions, willing the grief and the pain to fade.

He heard her but he couldn't answer her. He felt her cool hands, one against his bare back, the other smoothing over his hair. He turned suddenly, grabbing her and pulling her into a firm embrace, burying his face in her neck with a quiet sob. Still, he could not respond to her. She seemed to sense it, and she held him, rubbing his back and soothing him as best she could. She spoke, but her words didn't register. He focused on the sound of her voice, not the meaning of the words she murmured against the side of his head. All he needed was to know she was there.

She didn't understand why he retreated to the couch after loving her, and she couldn't help wondering if the nightmares would retreat if he remained beside her through the night. She wished, at the very least, he could remember what they were about. She glanced at the clock on the DVD player. 11:48. This one had come early, probably because his headache had driven him to bed much earlier than usual.

When he finally pulled away from her, she released him. He rose from the couch and stumbled into the kitchen. She remained where she was. He was going to have to come to her with what he needed. She had no idea how to help him.

When she heard a glass clatter into the sink and break, however, she changed her mind and hurried to the kitchen. He was standing at the sink, hands braced on it, head hanging. His breathing was irregular, and she became concerned. "Bobby?"

She saw blood running down the side of the sink away from his hand and decided to focus on that. "Let me take a look at that hand."

He looked at his hand but didn't move until she reached out and grabbed his arm. Silently he watched her clean up the blood with a paper towel before pressing a clean, dry paper towel against it. "Hold this on it while I get the first aid kit from the bathroom."

She gently pushed him into the living room and left him sitting on the couch. Returning to his side, she placed a towel on his leg and poured peroxide over the cut. He watched her clean and bandage the wound.

Her distraction worked. He was calmer now, his breathing even, although his head still pounded and he was still nauseous. When she left his side and went into the kitchen, he was caught offguard by a sudden sense of panic. It came out of nowhere and he didn't understand why he felt that way. She came right back and handed him a glass of water with two pills, sitting beside him and gently rubbing her hand up and down his back.

"Can you remember what your nightmare was about?"

He shook his head. "Not all of it."

"But you remember some of it?"

He began breathing a little harder. "I remember...I couldn't save her..."

"Who? Lori?"

When he nodded, she stroked his head. "Your memory...it's trying to break through. It's recovering. Tell me what you remember."

He closed his eyes, trying to recall those missing hours of his life. "I...uh, there's blood. A lot of blood. An-and Lori...she's afraid, terrified."

"Of you?"

"No. Someone else. Another man...and I know him, Eames."

"Who is he?"

"I...I can't remember. I just...I remember the feeling of recognition. I know that I know him." He tossed his hands in the air and launched himself off the couch. "What the hell is wrong with me? Why couldn't I save her? And suppose...I mean..Eames, what if I can't, if you..." He fell back against the wall, tipping his head back and closing his eyes.

She rose and walked to him, gently placing her hands on his chest. "I trust you with my life."

"Maybe that trust is misplaced."

"Stop it, right now," she demanded, slapping her hand against his chest, getting tough with him. "You can't start second-guessing your life because of an accident..."

He lifted his head away from the wall and glared at her, eyes bright with anger. "Accident? An accident? Eames, she was murdered! That wasn't an accident. He killed her and I couldn't stop him!"

"Who killed her?"

He opened his mouth to answer when his mind grabbed a name, but it slipped away before he could get it out. He frowned. "It was...uh...oh, God..."

He began to pace again, fighting to remember. He could see the man hovering over Lori's body, his broad, strong back and short dark hair...familiar...but his identity slipped from his grasp like a greased pig. "A cop, Eames. Lori was killed by a cop."

She stared at him. "Are you sure?"

He nodded. "A cop I know...He killed her in a rage..."

"Who is he?"

"I don't remember."

"Bobby, you have to remember."

He turned suddenly. "Do you think I don't know that?"

He was upset and getting angrier, and she knew enough to back off before pushing him too far. She was not afraid of his anger, but of upsetting him any more. She sat in the recliner and watched him, remaining silent as he continued to pace and fight with the memories that teased him.

She knew the medicine was beginning to take effect when he began to slow down. His gait became less sure and his eyes were less focused. "Go to bed," she said finally. "Before you fall over."

"I'm sorry."

"I know you are. It's all right. Just go to bed. Maybe we'll have better luck tomorrow."

_We_...she was still thinking and talking in terms of _we_. He would never know what he did to deserve her. He stopped in the hallway and turned. "Eames?"

"Yes, Bobby?"

"I love you."

Before she could respond, he continued to the bedroom. He was doing all he could to protect her, but she deserved that much. He would not allow her to waken beside him in the morning, even when he gave in to his desire. He really had to get a better grip on himself and stop that. He would only make matters worse if he didn't. He would cause her less pain ultimately by denying her, and himself. But he could no longer hide what his heart felt so strongly, and she deserved to hear the words, to know that he did love her. He would grieve about the pain he'd cause her later, once the verdict was in.

He sat on the edge of the bed and took in a few deep breaths. This was one of the rare times in his life when he did not want to be alone, but he chased away the longing and laid down. She was in the other room and that was close enough. It had to be.

* * *

He slept deeply for awhile, a positive side effect of the medication he'd taken. But once the medication wore off, the memories returned in full force.

_His arm closed around Nick's neck and he yanked with the strength he had left, tumbling them both away from the bed and backwards into the wall. He wasn't sure, but he might have smashed his elbow through the drywall. In a fury, he disarmed Nick, the knife dropping from his hand and sliding along the carpet to disappear under the bed. Hard, solid punches to the head and torso were exchanged by both, neither of them willing to concede defeat._

_Nick tumbled through the doorway into the hall; several pictures fell from the wall and broke. He lunged through the doorway after him, hitting him in the head before Nick landed a solid blow to his abdomen that stunned him. Taking full advantage of the opportunity, Nick continued throwing wild punches, driving him back down the hall toward the stairs. He got in several more blows before they reached the top of the stairs. Two more punches drove him back one step too far. Losing his balance at the top of the stairs, he fell backwards and everything went black._

His eyes opened and he sat up, breathing hard, but he hadn't cried out this time. And the memories... this time he held on to the memories. He got out of the bed and went down the hall to the living room, where Eames slept on the couch. "Eames!"

Jerked awake and disoriented, Eames sat up and looked around. She blinked when he turned on the light at the other end of the couch. She watched him frantically pace the living room. "What? What's wrong?"

"Nick...Nick Mustello...He-He's a patrol officer in the 3-9. Years ago, he pursued Lori, but she wasn't interested in him. I...I don't know what happened, if she was having an affair with him or what, but he's a big guy, like me. He's the one who killed her."

"Hold on a minute...I can't process this without coffee."

He continued to pace while she went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee. She looked at the microwave. 4:32. Any other time she'd read him the riot act for waking her like that. Returning to the living room with two cups of coffee, she held one out to him. "Drink this and calm down. How's your head?"

"My what?"

It always amused her when she was able to derail his mind. "Your head. You know, that thing at the top of your neck that people keep taking potshots at."

He stood in the middle of the room for a moment, looking confused. "It's, uh, it's all right."

"No headache?"

"Just a small one."

He'd had his breakthrough, she realized. His memories returned and the enormous stress he'd been placing on himself to remember was gone. She wasn't surprised that his headaches were relieved as well. She watched him walk around the coffee table and ease down onto the couch beside her. "It was...It was bad, Alex," he said softly. "He...He killed her. I think he thought I was dead, too, so he went back to finish with her and I was gone when he got back to me." He hung his head and stared at the floor. "I gave her a couple of chances to get away, but she chose to stay. She refused to leave me behind and she tried to help me. Dammit...why couldn't she have just left!"

She rubbed his arm gently. "You inspire loyalty in your friends, Bobby."

"She couldn't handle him; that's why she called me in the first place."

He swore again and hit the table hard. Eames knew there was nothing she could say or do to reassure him, so she remained silent, watching him with worried eyes. He ran his hand over his hair and hit the table again. "Why couldn't she have gone! I was willing to take the risk of dealing with Nick. I didn't need her to help!"

She watched him get up again and begin pacing, struggling with his emotions and the energy they were generating. "So what do we do now?" she asked.

He didn't answer right away, and she knew he was thinking and weighing the risks of what needed to be done. "I need you and Mike to follow up on this. See if his prints match the partials and try to find something in the crime scene evidence to place him there. But do not confront him. He's dangerous and I don't want you anywhere near him. Please."

"But the trial..."

"I need you to follow up on this more than I need you sitting in the gallery listening to McCoy assaulting my character."

She sat there, looking at her hands. She wanted to be there for him, to support him and remind him that he was not in this alone...

He sat beside her and silently slipped his arm around her, pulling her against him. "I know you're in my corner," he said softly. "That means more to me than anything else. I don't need you sitting behind me to know that's exactly where you are."

Resting her head against his chest, she smiled. "I'll call Logan..." She lifted her head and looked at the time. "In an hour and a half. We'll see what we can find."

"Promise me you won't confront Mustello."

When she hesitated in answering, he pulled back and forced her to look at him. Just the thought of her in the same room with Nick Mustello was enough to raise panic like bile in his gut. "Please. I want your word. If you confront him without evidence, he's going to vanish down that rabbit hole you like to bring up."

He had a point. "All right. We'll leave him alone until we find the evidence we need to bring him in."

"I will be the one to interrogate him."

"No. _We_ will interrogate him...you and me."

He began shaking his head. "I don't want you anywhere near him..."

Her anger boiled up. "Are we partners, or aren't we? By rights you shouldn't be involved in this at all. You're suspended pending the outcome of your trial."

He clamped his hand behind his neck and leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. "All right. But I don't like it."

"You don't have to."

He got up once again and resumed his pacing. She watched him for a while before deciding she needed to refocus him. "Tell me what you remember."

Slowly, he shook his head. "I-I can't. Not right now. I need to...process it all first." He grabbed his coffee and finished it off. "I'm going to take a shower."

He left the room and she rose from the couch, taking both coffee cups into the kitchen. She heard the bathroom door close and went down the hall into the bedroom. She opened her bag and laid out her clothes on the bed. Sitting on the bed, she picked up his pillow and hugged it, comforted by the scent of him. As difficult as the past few weeks had been for them, she had a sick feeling that it was going to get worse before it got better.


	18. A Grave Error

Eames sat outside Logan's building, tapping her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. When he came out of the building and slid into the passenger seat, she said, "It's about time."

"In case you didn't notice, it's still dark outside, and I didn't want to be rude to my, er, houseguest."

"Spare me the details, Logan. We have work to do."

"What's up?"

"We have a possible suspect we need to run against those partials from Lori Hodges' bedroom."

Logan frowned. "A suspect? Where did a suspect crop up from in the middle of the night?"

She made a quick left and answered, "From my partner's memory."

"Really? His memory turned loose?"

She nodded. "Now we just have to tie his memories to the scene of the murder."

Logan glanced into the empty back seat. "Where is he?"

She suppressed a smile. "He's not hiding in the back seat. I dropped him off at Moredock's. He has to be in court in two hours; he can't be part of this."

Logan scratched his head. "Right. So...who's our suspect?"

"Cop from the 3-7. Nick Mustello."

"Mustello..." he mused. "Wow. There's a name I haven't heard in awhile."

"You know him?"

"I know of him. He was a person of interest in a couple of murders on Staten Island about five years ago. He's a slippery son of a bitch with a wicked mean temper. I got to watch one of the interrogations. He's all charm and polite small talk until you get him riled. Then he's explosive. Seems to have a lot of control issues to go with the rage. I say he fits the bill. But what was a classy lady like her doing with a bastard like him?"

"Maybe she fell for the charm and polite small talk, and didn't see the raging hellhound until it was too late."

He nodded, contemplating her proposition. "Maybe. She didn't seem the worldly type, even if she did work for the department. She seemed, I don't know...sheltered. Maybe she didn't get enough of a bad taste in her mouth to be suspicious."

Eames stopped at a red light and looked at him. "Is he anything like Goren?"

Logan rubbed his hand across his chin, thinking. "He's a big guy, and he is a charmer. But Goren wouldn't hurt anybody, if he could help it. Mustello...he's a tightly wound coil, just waiting for the right thing to set him off. His rage is a blind fury. He doesn't even try to keep it in check like Goren does. And he's slick. We never could nail him on those murders. He covered his tracks too well. Maybe this time, knowing he messed up big time by letting Goren get away...maybe he got careless."

She accelerated through the intersection when the light changed. "Let's hope so."

* * *

Goren sat in a comfortable study, holding a coffee cup and shifting on the divan he was seated on. The room was an eclectic mix of dark wood with a light Oriental touch. It was such an odd mix it caught him off guard at how well it blended and harmonized. Moredock didn't miss the look on his face. He smiled. "Just the right mix of hard, crusty male and soft, delicate female, right?"

"Uh...yes. The styles...complement each other."

Moredock nodded, a fleeting look of sorrow spanning his face for the briefest of moments. Then the tough lawyer was back. "So, why did your partner drop you off here before sunrise?"

"She and Logan are going to review the evidence some more. We, uh, we might have a suspect."

"A match to those partials that don't seem to go with anyone?"

"Oh, they go with someone, all right. They go with the man who murdered Lori."

Moredock studied the restless man who sat halfway across the room, his thoughts interrupted by the doorbell. "That will be Ron. Excuse me for a minute."

Goren nodded and Moredock left the room. The big cop got to his feet and restlessly trolled around the room, reading bookspines, looking at photographs, contemplating knick-knacks, until Moredock returned to the room with Carver. Moredock looked toward the divan where he'd left Goren, not particularly surprised to find him on the other side of the room, bent over a bookshelf. Goren straightened and looked at the two men. Carver got right to the point. "Barry said you might have a suspect. May I ask where this suspect came from in the middle of the night, detective?"

Goren tapped his temple with his left hand. "My, uh, my memory...It came back. I remember what happened that night, and I saw who was there, what happened. I know who killed Lori. I, um, I realize that confronting him is not the thing to do in this case. We need to nail him with evidence, and that's what I sent Eames and Logan to do, gather evidence. It's not just a matter of getting the right guy, but of clearing me in the process." He met Carver's eyes. "It wasn't...easy..."

Carver nodded understanding. "I get that, detective, but you did the right thing, the right way."

A smile flickered across Goren's face. "For a change, right, Mr. Carver?"

Carver returned the smile. "We didn't always see eye-to-eye, but I never complained about the results you and your partner got." He watched Goren as he withdrew, casting his eyes aside, uncomfortable with the compliment even though he accepted it without dispute. Carver continued, "We need to hear what you remember of that night, detective, in as much detail as you can provide."

Neither lawyer missed the tension that became palpable in the room. But Goren didn't argue. He watched the lawyers sit down and make themselves comfortable, then turn to look at him expectantly. Doing his best to dissociate himself from the intense emotion the memories stirred in him, he recounted the events that memory had finally released into his mind.

When he was done, he was once again sitting on the divan. He leaned forward and buried his head beneath his arms. Moredock and Carver looked at each other, then back at the distraught detective. Neither man knew what to do, and no one spoke or moved until Goren did.

He slowly sat up, once more in control of himself, and looked toward the men. "I...I would like to look over the crime scene file, if I can."

With a nod, Carver set his briefcase on his lap and opened it, pulling out the file and holding it out to Goren, who rose and crossed the room to retrieve it from him. He took a seat in an armchair by the window. Scanning through the file with the eye of someone who was there, he methodically reviewed the the photos, the reports and the test results. When he spoke, the lawyers were not certain if he was talking to them or thinking out loud, so they waited for a cue from him.

Goren studied the test results on the blood from the scene. Most of it belonged to Lori and to him, but there was a smear of unidentified blood from a third person. The sample was degraded by bleach, and the only thing that could be determined from it was that it belonged to neither him nor Lori. If they had a sample of fresh blood to compare to it, a match was possible. His mind turned over the fact that Mustello had tried to remove his trace from the scene. "The blood of the third person...if we can get probable cause, we can test his blood and compare it. A match is possible, even though the sample is degraded. That would place him at the scene on the night she was killed."

"We'll need more than that, son," Moredock gently reminded him.

"I know. But it's a start." He looked at the two lawyers. "I want more than reasonable doubt, gentlemen. I didn't do this, and I want the man who did."

Carver smiled at the familiar determination he saw on Goren's face. "If anyone can get him, detective, you're the one."

Goren allowed himself a brief, shy smile at the compliment before he said, "I can't do it alone." He looked at the file in his lap. "I never do,"

No one would deny that his insight and intuitive leaps of logic were the driving force to the success rate he shared with his partner, but he was the first one to give her due credit for equal contribution. He never claimed full credit. In fact, when all was said and done, at the successful closing of another case, he stepped into the background, ready to move on to the next case. He didn't do the job for accolades. He didn't care who got the credit. What he cared about was justice. It was all about bringing closure to the victims and due process to the guilty.

He felt the same way about his trial. It wasn't entirely about his innocence. It was also about bringing the man who did kill Lori to justice. Justice...he had given his life to the cause of justice, and he had to believe in it now. If he was convicted, he would accept his sentence, if only because he'd let Lori die. In doing so, he believed, he had contributed to her fate. Maybe it wasn't enough to carry the burden of guilt in his heart for the rest of his life. Maybe he deserved a greater punishment for his failure. The outcome of the trial would be the deciding factor in whether he lived, and continued bringing justice to those who deserved it and some peace to those who needed it, or died in the confines of the prison on Rikers' Island.

For Eames' sake more than his own, he sought acquittal. She deserved more from him than he'd given her in the past, and he wanted a chance to make it up to her. She certainly deserved that much. As for what he deserved...he chose not to dwell too much on that.

He returned his attention to the file in his lap, looking once more through the pictures. His mind filled in all the blanks, seeing what had happened in each shot the way it had gone down. The blood smear and the hole in the drywall where he and Mustello had crashed into the wall, the items from the dresser scattered across the carpet, the baseball bat and the broken leg of the antique dresser, Lori laying on the bed...

_Lori_...the room suddenly began to close in on him. "Uh, please, excuse me."

He rose, dropping the file on his chair, and left the room.

Moredock and Carver heard the front door close. Carver raised a hand. "Let me talk to him."

The defense attorney nodded and Carver followed after Goren. He found him at the far end of the spacious front porch, leaning heavily on the railing. He approached slowly, not doubting that Goren knew he was there. He waited to be acknowledged.

After a few long moments, Goren said, "I always cared about her. She was my friend."

Carver knew how loyal this man was to his friends, how important those few people were to him. But he did not reply, knowing that was not what Goren needed. He waited in silence, and Goren spoke again. "She called me because she trusted in me. Her faith...was misplaced."

"Did you read your emergency room report, detective? You did not stand by and watch that woman die. You fought for her life, and it's clear that you fought hard. You have no reason to be ashamed of that."

"I..." He closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest. "I don't expect you to understand."

"But I do understand. Your mind is filled with 'what ifs, whys and if onlys'. What if I had gotten there sooner? Why didn't she leave when she had the chance? If only I had been sober..."

Goren's head snapped up and he looked at Carver. The lawyer did understand him. He met Carver's eyes eyes, expecting sympathy, which was akin to pity in his mind. He wanted no one's sympathy or pity. He was surprised to see something very different: affection and understanding. "But that's not the way it went down, and here I am." He sighed heavily. "Part of me is hoping for conviction because I failed to do my job when it counted most. Suppose...suppose that happens again, when Eames needs me to back her up, and I can't?"

Carver sensed his next words would have a huge bearing on the path Goren's mind chose to travel. "That will never happen. Your mind is always two or more steps ahead of every one else's. You have an innate ability to sense intent and react before it is put into action. Eames is safer with you than she is in her car, driving home at the end of the day. Don't doubt yourself or start second guessing everything. Events this time conspired against you." He stepped closer. "Please, don't allow your guilt to sabotage your case. I have no desire to see you sent to prison. That would be a gross failure of the system."

Goren looked at him again. "Do you really believe that, Mr. Carver?"

Carver heard the unspoken end of the thought. _...because I don't._ "I really do, and so should you. You don't belong in prison. You belong in Major Case, putting real criminals there." This time he reached out his hand and laid it to rest on Goren's shoulder. "Failure is not a crime. It happens to everyone from time to time. Even you."

Goren sighed. "But I failed...when it really counted, and a woman I cared about died."

He stepped past Carver and went back into the house. Carver stood there for a moment before he followed Goren into the house.

* * *

It was ten o'clock when Eames pulled the SUV into an empty spot down the block from the 37th precinct and placed the 'police vehicle' placard in the window. Logan made no move to exit the vehicle. "Are you absolutely sure about this, Eames

"Absolutely. Bobby's in court. I want to size this guy up."

"Does it matter that Goren said he's dangerous?"

"What's he going to do in the middle of his own squad room, Logan? If you're scared, you can just wait here in the car."

She got out of the car. Reluctantly, Logan followed her. "It's not Mustello I'm afraid of," he complained as he fell in step beside her. "It's Goren, when he finds out I let you do this."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "'Let me,' Logan?" She snorted. "As if. Besides, he's not going to find out. We don't even know for certain Mustello's done anything wrong. What harm can it do just talking to him?"

"Famous last words," he muttered as they approached the station and entered.

They were greeted by the desk sergeant, a tired man who had obviously spent too much time dealing with the public. His voice dripped with bored frustration. "What can I do for you?"

Eames held out her badge. "I'm Detective Eames from Major Case and this is Detective Logan. We'd like to talk to one of your officers."

"Which one?"

"Officer Nick Mustello."

"Today's Mustello's day off. He'll be back in tomorrow morning. You want to leave him a message?"

"No, thanks. We'll be back."

They turned and started to leave. Eames turned back. "One more thing, sergeant. Has Mustello been in any fights recently?"

The sergeant barked out a short laugh. "Are you serious?"

Logan frowned. "Just answer her."

"His last fight was a couple of weeks ago."

"Do you know what happened?"

"Probably another bar fight. He never said and I never asked."

The two detectives turned and left the building. The sergeant wrote a note on a piece of paper and picked up the phone.

* * *

As they walked back to the car, Logan said, "That can't backfire on us. Not at all."

"Shut up, Logan."

"Goren's gonna go nuts when he finds out we were here, looking for Mustello."

Eames shook her head. "He's not going to find out. Let's go back to the squad room and see what the lab has for us."


	19. A Powder Keg Looking for a Match

Goren sat in his place at the defense table, keenly aware of his partner's absence in the courtroom. He had not expected such a reaction. It caught him off-guard and deeply unsettled him. Carver seemed to sense his unrest, and he leaned close. "Are you all right, detective?"

"Yes, sir. I'm fine."

"Is Detective Eames coming this morning?"

"No, sir. She's working on the evidence I told you about."

Carver nodded, again understanding the man who sat beside him. "It will be all right, you know."

"If you say so, Mr. Carver."

Carver's response, if he had one, was cut off when the court was called to order and Boucher took her place on the bench. "Good morning," she said. "Are you ready to proceed, Mr. McCoy?"

"Yes, Your Honor." When she inclined her head, he said, "The People call Dr. Simon Grayson to the stand."

A tall, slim man with thinning hair, dressed impeccably in a tan suit, was sworn in and took his place on the stand. "Dr. Grayson, we have called you as an expert witness. Please explain your medical specialty to the court."

"I am a psychiatrist, specializing in the treatment of abused children and adults who were the victims of abuse as children."

"We sent you the medical records of two boys, brothers raised together in the same home. Did you review those records?"

"I did."

"And what is your impression of those records?"

"The records of the older brother were inconclusive. There were some questionable injuries and the hospital jumping raise some red flags, but there could be other explanations than abuse for the things that happened to that boy. But the younger brother...there is no doubt in my mind that boy was abused, by one or both parents."

McCoy looked at his notepad. "What effect would being raised by a mentally ill parent have on those boys?"

"It would depend on the parent's level of involvement and the nature of the illness."

"A schizophrenic mother, divorced by the boys' minimally involved father when the younger son was 11."

"I would expect the impact to be profound."

"Would you expect those two boys to have grown into well-adjusted, stable men?"

"Possibly, the older son, but the younger? No. He would be angry, volatile and unpredictable."

"Capable of murder?"

"Definitely. Criminal propensities would be great."

"Thank you, doctor."

Moredock rose to his feet and addressed the doctor. "Dr. Grayson, would you expect that younger son to grow up to become a peace officer, reluctant to use his weapon? Or a gentle, caring man with a few very close, loyal friends?"

"With therapeutic intervention, yes. It is very possible."

"And without it?"

"Then it would be unlikely."

"Unlikely but not impossible?"

The doctor rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Nothing is impossible, but I would say that boy would be more destined for a jail cell than a squad room. An upbringing like that would be very difficult to overcome without therapy."

"But it is possible for a man to overcome his past, even without therapy?"

"Yes. It's possible."

"Thank you, doctor."

Grayson was dismissed and McCoy rose. "The People now call Peggy Stachowiak."

Goren sat up a little straighter. There was a name he had not heard in a very long time. He watched her cross the bar and take the stand. Her beauty, which had always emanated from within, had not faded with time and she carried herself with greater dignity. Her eyes perused the courtroom before they settled on him. He held her gaze and his mouth quirked into a small smile which she returned.

McCoy began, "Ms. Stachowiak, how do you know the defendant?"

"I taught English and literature at Canarsie High School when he was there. He was my student as a sophomore and as a senior."

"And after all these years, you still remember him?"

"Yes, I do."

"Exactly what do you remember?"

Her eyes drifted from McCoy to Goren and back. "I remember a troubled boy with a very difficult home life, a brilliantly insightful boy with a very keen mind, a sweet, thoughtful boy starved for affection and attention. He was a very complicated person, seeking anything that would give him a challenge. He was also hurting inside and seeking any means of escape he could find."

"Are you aware of the trouble he got into in December of his junior year?"

"No, I wasn't aware of that until now."

"Did it surprise you?"

"No. None of it did."

McCoy didn't miss the fact that she continued to glance toward the defendant's table. "What kind of escape did young Robert seek, Ms. Stachowiak?"

"Sometimes, he escaped inside himself. He easily lost himself in books. Other times, his escapes were less healthy."

"Drugs?"

"When Robert was a sophomore, I worked hard to challenge him, but I didn't know him well. When he was a senior, he was deeply troubled and heading down a dangerous path. Yes, he smoked pot and drank alcohol, but if he took anything else, I didn't know about it."

"Was he a troublemaker?"

"No, he wasn't. For the most part, he was quiet and withdrawn. He got into some fights, but he wasn't a bully. He didn't do his school work because it bored him, until he began staying after school with me. Then he started doing his work and I saw global improvement in him."

"Explain."

She looked past McCoy, turning her mind back almost thirty years. "He seemed more settled and his substance use declined dramatically, at least in school. His discussions with me were a lot more animated. He loved to argue, to prove his point. He relished a challenge, so I challenged him. I made him think, and he thrived because of it. I put a new spin on the school work that bored him, and he rose to the challenge."

"How did you feel when he graduated?"

"I felt mixed emotions. I was glad he made it through school, but I worried about his future. I knew how easy it would be for him to follow the wrong path."

"He was easily swayed?"

"Not by people, no, but by circumstances. Innately, Robert was not a criminal. But he constantly sought for something that would challenge his mind. He had a brilliant, eternally busy mind."

"What did you know of his home life?"

"Not much. I spoke with both parents. I got the feeling his father was...disconnected from him. He seemed disinterested in anything I had to say. His mother seemed concerned, but she was also very self-involved. His home life was unstable at best."

"Were you surprised to learn he was on trial for murder?"

"On trial, not really. For murder, yes."

"Thank you."

Moredock approached her. "Why are you surprised he's on trial for murder?"

"I never thought he had it in him to kill. He was always a gentle soul. He had no tolerance for bullies and he always looked out for the younger, smaller kids." She smiled. "During lunch one day, he found a baby bird in the yard in front of the school. It was fully feathered, just not quite ready to fly. He kept that little bird in his jacket pocket all afternoon and after school, he climbed the tree to return it to its nest. Robert always had a tender heart."

"You said he stayed after school with you. Why?"

"He started staying to keep me company while I graded papers. I would grade and he would read. I began encouraging him to do his homework for his other classes, and that was what he did. It turned out to be a good thing for him. His grades improved and he learned how to seek out the challenge he needed in even the most mundane circumstances. He always hated to be bored."

Moredock realized that hadn't changed much. Maybe he managed it better now... "Thank you."

Goren watched her step down and walk toward the gallery. She looked at him again; he met her eyes. She continued into the gallery, returning to her seat.

* * *

As Eames studied the report she held, her hand began to shake and she set it down. Logan set a cup of coffee in front of her. "What's wrong?"

"It was him," she murmured.

"What was who? Is that from the lab?"

She nodded. "It's the print comparison. It's a match."

"That's a step in the right direction, but we'll definitely need more than a positive match to a set of partials."

A loud voice from the other side of the squad room drew their attention and Logan muttered, "Well, well, look what the cat dragged in."

One of their squadmates escorted the man toward them. "Eames, this man would like a word with you and Logan."

"Thanks, Dave." She looked at the tall, beefy man and frowned. "How can we help you?"

His eyes were focused on Logan. "You worked out on Staten Island."

"Yeah, I did."

"Is that why you came to my squad lookin' for me? 'Cause-a somethin' that happened back then?"

Eames spoke up. "You're Mustello?"

He looked at her for the first time. "Yeah. My sergeant called and said two Major Case dicks were lookin' for me. Now what do ya want?"

"Let's go someplace more private."

He followed Eames toward the interrogation rooms, while Logan ran to the captain's office. Ross looked up at the quick knock. "Cap, Eames and I are going into Interrogation one with Mustello. You'll want to come and watch this. We got a positive match on those partials from the Hodges scene."

Ross rose from his seat. "You brought him in on that?"

"No. We stopped by his squad this morning because Eames wanted to size him up. He came waltzing in here of his own accord to find out what we wanted."

Ross shook his head. "I don't like this. You can't go after him because of a match to those partials."

"He killed her, captain. We know he did."

"That's all well and good, Logan. But we need evidence. Get in there with Eames."

Logan entered the room where Eames was waiting for him. _At least she had enough sense to wait_, he mused. He nodded at her and stood back against the wall beside the two-way glass.

Eames began, "We wanted to talk to you because your name came up in the course of an investigation. We just have a few questions for you."

"Go ahead."

Mustello was cocky and self-assured. He had an arrogant streak a mile wide and Eames instinctively did not like him. She couldn't for the life of her imagine what Lori Hodges would have seen in him. "We were told you knew Lorraine Hodges."

"Yeah. A long time ago."

"No. More recently. Our source tells us she had an affair with you."

His face grew dark. "Who told you that?"

"You know I can't tell you that. But we were also told she was afraid of you."

Mustello waved his arms. "No, no...you ain't pinnin' this one on me. It was Goren that killed her. He's the one on trial."

Logan spoke up. "Just because he's on trial doesn't mean he did it."

"He was there!"

Eames' eyes narrowed at him. "How do you know that?"

Mustello faltered for half a second before he recovered. "It was in all the papers."

This one thought fast on his feet. Logan said, "Being there doesn't mean he did it. Someone tried to beat the shit out of him that night, and we know it wasn't Lori Hodges. There was a third person there that night, and we think it was you."

Mustello jumped to his feet, knocking his chair over backwards. Logan stepped away from the wall, ready to fight. Mustello glared at the two detectives and his mouth curled up in a sneer. "You got nothin' on me. You're graspin' at straws to save your friend. Forget it, sister. He ain't worth it. You got nothin' to keep me on. I'm outta here."

He stormed across the room, yanked the door open and slammed it. Logan crossed his arms over his chest. "That went well, don't you think?"

"He did it, Mike."

"I know that, and you know that. Maybe Ross knows it now, too. But we've got nothing to get him on."

She was quiet as they walked into the observation room to talk to Ross. She said, "The evidence is there. It has to be."

"Stay away from that guy, Eames," Ross said. "He's a powder keg just looking for a match, and now he knows he's on your radar."

"Captain, I will not let my partner take the fall for that guy. You saw him. You know as well as I do that he is the one we're after. It's bad enough that Goren is on trial for that man's crime. He's not going to prison for him."

Ross met her eyes and understood her resolve. "Then find the evidence to put him away."

Logan said, "You should probably know that he was suspected of a couple of murders out on Staten Island when I worked there. He's a smug bastard. He never left any trace behind. But this time..." He grinned. "This time he screwed up. This time, he left a witness, and in his panic, he got careless. He left behind a set of partials, and I'll bet money that degraded blood smear is his."

"We don't have enough evidence to get a court order for a sample to compare it to." He looked from Logan to Eames and said, "Go and get enough evidence. I agree with you, Eames. Goren is not going to prison for another man's crime. So let's get him."

* * *

Goren was deeply unsettled by the time they recessed for lunch. McCoy had called three more witnesses, all officers from Internal Affairs. It had not gone well. Internal Affairs did not have a very high opinion of him, in spite of the fact they'd had to clear him in every investigation they had subjected him to.

Carver leaned toward him as the gallery emptied. "That could have gone better, but it wasn't unexpected. All their testimony did was indicate that you are an unconventional officer and the department doesn't like unconventional. We're still in good shape. Don't worry."

Goren nodded, watching as Moredock and Carver left the courtroom, deep in conversation. He rubbed his forehead and rose. He didn't have much stomach for food. A walk would do him a lot more good.

He was halfway down the courthouse steps to the street when someone called his name. He turned to find Peggy Stachowiak approaching him. "Look at you, Robert. All grown up," she said with a warm smile.

"All grown up and still in trouble, right?"

"Not at all. Where are you heading?"

"I was just going for a walk."

"No lunch?"

"I'm not very hungry."

"How about some company, then?"

"Suit yourself, Ms. Stachowiak."

"Please...call me Peggy. You're not my student any more."

So many years had passed since he'd seen this woman, but he had never forgotten her. The kindness she'd shown a troubled boy had helped make a difference in his life. He nodded and she fell into step beside him.


	20. Finding the Match

Goren led Peggy away from the courthouse, to the north, along Hamill Place, and turned down Worth Street. "How have you been?" he asked, entering tentatively into a conversation. He held a great deal of respect for this lovely woman, and seeing her again brought back a slurry of memories and emotions that had been relegated to his dreams.

"Not bad. I still live in Canarsie and I still teach at the high school. What about you?"

"I've been with the department for sixteen years. I was a narcotics detective for four years and I've been with Major Case for eight."

"You've done well..." she began, hesitating to find the right words to complete her statement..

"For a messed-up kid?" he completed.

"I wasn't going to say that."

"But it's true. I... didn't have the best childhood."

She looked at him. "I used to wonder what became of you. Then I saw your name in the paper a few times and I realized you'd gone into law enforcement. That wasn't a career I would have expected from you, until I really thought about it. Then I decided it was a career you were very well suited for."

He was curious. "Why do you say that?"

"You always loved a good challenge, any sort of puzzle to solve. Police work would give you that challenge."

"What career would you have chosen for me?"

"Something...stimulating. A teacher, maybe...history or even English. High school or college. Something that would stimulate and challenge your mind. You always had a brilliant mind, and a great capacity to learn, once you applied yourself."

They entered Columbus Park and he bought her lunch from a hot dog vendor, but he didn't eat himself. His stomach was still too unsettled by the morning's testimony. They sat near the playground and watched the children play. She saw the tender look on his face as he watched two toddlers chase each other, giggling. "Do you have children, Robert?"

"No. I never married." He looked at her. "Do you?"

"Children? No. I was never blessed with a child. I got married a long time ago, but it didn't last. I left him almost fifteen years ago and went back to my maiden name. The way it ended...I was glad there were never children."

"Children could have eased the loss."

"Or complicated it. Believe me, in my circumstance, it was a good thing."

He let the matter go, unwilling to pry. She finished her hot dog and asked, "How are your parents?"

"My father died about ten years ago."

"It was never my place to say but I didn't particularly like him."

"Neither did I." Unbidden, thoughts of Dan Croyden and Abe McVee invaded his mind. "He still influences my judgment from time to time. It's not a good thing, and I haven't been able to get past it." He looked at his hands and shifted the subject before she could comment. "My mother died last year."

"I'm sorry," she responded, sensing it was the right thing to say.

"Thank you."

"What about your brother?"

"I haven't seen him since before my mother's death. We...drifted apart. Frank never lived up to his potential."

"I'm sorry to hear that. He was a bright boy."

"He made some unfortunate choices in his life. But he...uh...he has a son. I suppose that was the one good thing he did in his life."

She could hear the bitterness in his voice. "What happened to him?"

"Frank went into a nosedive that started in high school and he was never able to pull out of it."

"And what about you?"

"I...did an incomplete spiral. I got very lucky. I always managed to find a savior, somehow." He looked at his watch. "Uh, it's almost time to get back."

"My testimony is done," she replied as she dropped her trash in a nearby can. "I need to get back to school for my afternoon classes."

As he walked her to her car, his thoughts wandered. She wasn't that much older than he was. His sophomore year had been her first year teaching. He'd spent most of his senior year watching her, studying her movements and her mannerisms, committing them to memory. Those memories persisted, even into the present. He remembered the way she absently tucked her chestnut hair behind her ear as she graded papers, tapping her red pen against her lips. He remembered the sound of her voice, the passion she exuded as she lectured about _The Last of the Mohicans_, Shakespeare's _Macbeth_, TS Eliot, _Walden_... She had fueled his already passionate love for books, turned him on to the classics and inspired in him a burning desire not just to read, but to understand. He developed a deep passion for poetry and prose, for Shakespeare and Dickens...for her.

In his mind's eye, he saw the sexy curve of her legs, the swell of nicely shaped breasts beneath tasteful sweaters, the curve of her hips as she wrote at the board. She was a beautiful, sexy woman taking pains not to appear sexy, but he noticed and he easily saw past her attempts to seem plain.

She was older now, of course, but just as classy. Her brown hair was threaded with gray but the lines around her eyes and mouth told him she laughed often. He couldn't help but recall the ease with which she'd coaxed him into applying himself to his other classes, which he found mostly boring. He would have done anything to spend another hour or two with her after school. He finished his work quickly, then pretended to read while he watched her and daydreamed. She returned to him at night when he dreamed, and that continued long after she'd been gone from his life. It had been a number of years since he'd thought of her, but he had no doubt she was still there, visiting his dreams.

She pulled her keys from her purse when they arrived at her blue Corolla. "In spite of the circumstances, it was good to see you," she said. "I hope this all works out for the best for you."

"Thank you for caring enough to come down here," he replied.

He studied the kind face of this teacher he had always loved. She held his gaze and, without a word, reached up and kissed him. His eyes closed and he folded his arms around her, returning the kiss. It was something he'd dreamed about since he was seventeen.

She stepped back and he moistened his lips as he opened his eyes to look at her. "I...uh...Peggy, I'm involved with someone." At least, he thought he was. He had to give her, both of them, the benefit of the doubt until he knew for certain. He looked over his shoulder toward the courthouse. "And this, uh, this isn't the best time..."

She touched his cheek and ran her thumb over his lips. Her tender smile told him it was all right. "I've wanted to do that for many years," she said softly. And her smile did not fade. Her hand slipped away. "Good-bye, Robert."

He nodded as he stepped back and watched her get into her car, start it and drive away. Slowly, he walked back to the courthouse.

* * *

Logan sat at the conference table, studying the crime scene evidence. The pictures were tacked to the wall and labeled. _Lori's blood. Goren's blood. Unknown blood._ In reviewing the pictures and the inventory from CSU, Eames had discovered a missing report. In addition to the blood smears on the walls and the pooled blood on the bed, there was a lot of it on the carpet and the techs had taken swatches of it for testing. So she had gone to retrieve the missing report while Logan reviewed the pictures and reports he was starting to see in his sleep. If the evidence they needed was here, he was not seeing it. Eames came into the room, looking at several sheets of paper. "They 'misplaced' it," she complained.

"Sure they did. They just didn't want to hear it from you. What did they find?"

"You tell me," she challenged.

"Lori's blood, Goren's blood, someone else's blood."

"Exactly."

"And the mystery blood's been degraded by bleach."

"That's where it gets interesting. Apparently, Mustello lost track of who bled where. Some of the blood he bleached has been identified as Goren's and some of the blood he missed is his. All we need is a sample from him to match to these and we've got him."

"So how do we do that?"

"You didn't get any DNA from him in Staten Island?"

"No. He was never a suspect, just a person of interest. We've got the same here—not enough to move him onto the suspect list. We have tons of circumstantial evidence but nothing solid enough to get a court order."

She sat down and furrowed her brow in thought. "All right, then, we do what my partner would do."

"And what's that...or don't I want to know?"

She gave him a half-smile. "We get him to bleed."

He was not liking the sound of this. "How do we get him to do that? If I pick a fight with him, Internal Affairs will eat me for lunch, and you're not getting anywhere near him alone. He'd kill you as soon as say your name." His mind turned another thought. "And if we do get his blood, all it's gonna do is place him at the scene. It's not proof he did anything to Lori. They already have Goren for that."

"Don't worry about that. All we have to do is let Bobby do his little dance with the devil. He'll get Mustello to trip over himself." She tucked her hair behind her ear and looked thoughtful. "Maybe Bobby can..."

"Oh, no. I see two things wrong with that idea. First, he's in enough trouble as it is. Second, that would involve telling him we went to see Mustello in the first place. Nuh-uh. No way."

She walked over to the photos and stared at the largest of the bloody smears on the walls of Lori's bedroom. Reaching out, she touched the words _Goren's blood_. "Maybe there is a way..." she mused.

"All right. Share with the class..."

"We need someone to pick a fight with him..."

"Someone with more guts than sense."

"Not necessarily. Let me make a call." She pulled out her phone and dialed. "Hi, Lewis. This is Alex Eames. Hey, I need a favor..."

* * *

Goren sat down beside Carver and rubbed his temple. Carver leaned toward him. "Not feeling any better?"

"No, sir. Not at all."

Carver squeezed his arm. He couldn't say he blamed him. Once McCoy was done and Barry got to mount his defense, the big detective would feel better, he was certain.

When the afternoon session was called to order a few minutes later, McCoy rose and called Ed Green to the stand.

"Detective Green, you and your partner investigated the Hodges murder."

"Yes, sir, we did."

"What made you look at the defendant as a suspect?"

"We found his fingerprints in the living room and some of the blood in the bedroom was identified as his."

"Was there ever an alternate suspect in this case?"

"No. He was our only suspect."

"What was the defendant's reaction to being questioned?"

"He was cooperative."

"Did he admit to knowing the victim right away?"

"Yes. He never denied that he knew her, but he said he hadn't seen her for a number of years. He told us he was home alone that night."

"When did he change that story?"

"After we showed him the record of his Emergency Room visit from that night, although he never admitted to seeing the victim that night."

McCoy walked to his table and withdrew a paper from a folder. He brought it to the stand and handed it to Green. "This emergency room report?"

"Yes. That's it."

"What did the defendant do when you arrested him?"

"He lawyered up and asked to make a phone call."

"Who did he call?"

"His partner."

"Do you currently have any other suspects?"

"No, we don't."

"Thank you, detective."

Moredock pulled out his copy of the emergency room report and approached Green. "Detective Green, did you look at this report?"

"Yes."

"Can you account for the severity of this man's injuries? Do you honestly think Lori Hodges did this kind of damage to a man of his size?"

"I'm not qualified to make that kind of assessment."

"These are serious injuries," Moredock went on. "The defendant is a big man..."

Green nodded. "That's true, but Lori Hodges was fighting for her life."

"Did it occur to you that maybe the defendant was fighting for her life as well?"

No."

"Think about that," he suggested as he returned to his place.

Green stepped down from the stand. McCoy stood. He was winding down his case and he had one more witness to put on the stand. "The People call Kenneth Moran to the stand."

Goren groaned. This one could not go well at all.

* * *

Logan was pacing in the conference room while Eames sat at the table watching him. They were waiting for Lewis to arrive. "You can't be serious, Eames. Mustello is going to wipe the floor with a little guy like Lewis."

"Lewis once told me that Bobby taught him how to fight, including how to duck and evade. After Bobby went into the Army, Lewis took up boxing. He's going to be fine."

The door opened and one of the other detectives poked his head in. "Eames, someone's here to see you."

"Send him in, Dave."

Lewis came into the room a few moments later. "Hi, Detective Alex, Detective Logan."

Eames smiled at him. "Thanks for coming, Lewis."

"Hey, I'm willing to do anything you need from me to help Bobby out. I'm afraid I didn't do much good for him in court."

Logan waved a hand. "You did fine, man. Moredock's doing a great job of countering McCoy's witnesses. And remember, the defense hasn't even started yet."

Lewis sighed. "Yeah, I know. I just...I hate to see him going through this at all, and I hate even more that his past was stirred into the mix. He really hasn't changed a whole lot. He still has to test the limits, see what he can get away with. But this...he didn't do what they think he did. I know he didn't."

Eames nodded agreement. "We know he didn't, Lewis. That's why I called you. We know who did do it, but we need his DNA to tie him to the scene. We can take it from there."

"So you want me to pick a fight with him?"

"Sort of," Logan said. "We really don't want you to fight with him. This guy's a brick wall and he's already killed. He did a lot of damage to Goren and he's a big guy. He'd pulverize you."

Eames continued, "We just want you to provoke him and get in the first hit."

Logan nodded. "Pop him in the nose, make sure he bleeds on your shirt and then get the hell out of dodge. We'll be there to stop him."

Lewis looked at Eames. "I don't want you getting hurt, Detective Alex."

"Don't worry about me, Lewis. Just watch out for yourself."

"Nothing's gonna happen to her," Logan promised. "I already have my head in a noose for letting her get this far and dragging you into it. Goren's gonna kill me."

"Quit bellyaching, Logan," Eames snapped. "What do you think, Lewis? Do you think you can pull this off without getting hurt?"

Lewis grinned. "I know I can. Bobby always said I was fast. I can do it."

Eames returned his smile. "We found out where Mustello hangs out after work. I'll bet money he's there right now. Are you ready to do this now?"

Lewis squared his shoulders. "Lead on, Detective Alex. I'm ready."

They left the conference room with Logan trailing behind them, still not liking any of it. He couldn't believe he'd let her talk him into this. He was dead meat when Goren found out and he knew it.


	21. Igniting the Powder Keg

Connie Rubisrosa watched her boss read his notes as Moran was sworn in. Even though she knew better, she had hoped he wouldn't call Moran. As the chief of detectives he had a position of authority that commanded respect. When this man spoke, people would listen, including the twelve people who could send Goren to jail for the rest of his life. This was the most frustrating part of her job, when they had to prosecute a person she very strongly felt was innocent. Jack was not convinced; he still believed in Goren's guilt. She did not. Moran's testimony was going to be crippling for the big detective. All she could do was hope his attorney was smart enough to find a way to mitigate the damage or, even better, turn it around to his favor. She settled back to watch.

McCoy approached the stand. "What is your position in the police department?"

"I am the chief of detectives."

"So you are familiar with every detective under your command."

Moran nodded. "I make it a point to be, yes."

McCoy indicated the defense table. "So you are familiar with Detective Goren?"

"Very familiar."

"Would you please give the court your assessment of this detective."

Several of the jury members glanced toward Goren. He was watching Moran but he did not react to chief's testimony. He appeared interested, but distracted. None of them had figured the man out yet. They each looked for some kind of visual clue they could grasp onto that would indicate his innocence or guilt, but there was none. He'd shown concern when his friend Lewis testified, and surprise when Peggy Stachowiak was called to the stand, but it became evident that his reactions were directed outward and not inward. He had shown interest in the proceedings from the beginning. They had seen his physical pain early in the trial, but that seemed to have dissipated. The woman who had been in the gallery behind him, showing concern and support, was not there today, and they wondered at that, too. Throughout the prosecution's presentation of the case, every time they thought they were starting to get a handle on this man, his lawyer changed their minds. They wondered if McCoy would be as effective with the defense witnesses. More than anything, they were anxious to see the defendant's testimony, and they wondered if Moredock would put him on the stand.

Moran adjusted his position. "Detective Goren has caused his share of trouble. He cost another officer his job. He was responsible for the release of a violent gang leader suspected in the murder of a police officer. He circumvented the department to conduct an unauthorized investigation into a prison facility outside our jurisdiction. If he doesn't like the answers he gets from the brass, he tries to change the rules to suit him. His mental stability has been brought into question numerous times. He's not a team player; he's a rogue."

"Were you surprised to find out he'd been arrested for murder?"

"No. I figured he finally snapped and that poor girl bore the brunt of it. It was only a matter of time."

McCoy nodded. "What is the department's opinion of him?"

"To the rest of the world, he's one of our rank and file. To the department, he's a cancer, a maverick who doesn't follow the rules or stand behind his brothers. I won't be sorry to see him go to Riker's. It will be a relief."

Just as McCoy had anticipated, Moran tore the detective apart. It was a very grim picture he'd painted with confidence. An unstable loner...just the sort of man who would snap in a moment of rage and kill someone. McCoy smiled as he thanked the chief and returned to his seat beside Rubirosa, pleased and confident.

Moredock finished conferring with Carver and Goren, and he rose to his feet. "Chief Moran," he began. "Didn't my client undergo a psychiatric evaluation that cleared him as fit for duty?"

"Yes, but I prefer to believe my gut over some psychiatric double talk."

"You don't respect the opinion of the department's mental health staff? So why order an evaluation at all?"

"It's protocol. He was returned to duty."

"Against your better judgment?"

"Yes."

Moredock nodded and let that roll around in the minds of the jury members. "Explain how he cost this other officer his job."

Moran shifted in his seat. "Detective Patrick Copa identified a known violent gang leader as the man who shot and killed his partner. Detective Goren cast doubt on Copa's identification and we were forced to release the suspect."

"How did he do that?"

"He raised suspicions about Copa's vision."

Moredock nodded. "And were his suspicions confirmed?"

Moran's jaw tightened. "Yes. Copa was forced onto disability."

"And you would have preferred Detective Goren to keep silent, so that Copa could remain on the job and possibly injure innocent bystanders the next time he discharged his weapon? Or maybe misidentify another person innocent of the crime they're accused of?"

"Of course not," Moran sputtered.

"So what's the problem, chief?"

Moran's eyes narrowed in anger. "He doesn't follow the rules."

"Which rule is it that states he should keep quiet about another officer's infirmity, regardless of the cost?"

"Objection..." McCoy began.

"Withdrawn," Moredock said with a smile, not caring if McCoy's objection was sustainable. The idea was in the air and in the minds of the twelve jury members. At the defense table, Carver smiled.

"Now...about this unauthorized undercover assignment. He went undercover into a prison facility to confirm allegations of murder and torture?"

"Yes, based on the ramblings of a mentally ill inmate who is now a fugitive."

"His nephew, who was in fear for his own life."

"That prison was out of our jurisdiction. There are proper channels, which he bypassed."

Moredock nodded, pleased by Moran's mounting impotent fury. "Channels that would have buried the allegations because prisoners don't matter?"

"Objection!" McCoy rose from his chair.

"Withdrawn," Moredock conceded again.

"As for the gang leader who was released...was he guilty or was Detective Copa's identification wrong?"

Moran was furious, and he struggled to control his rage. "The ID was wrong," he growled.

Moredock nodded. "Chief, what is my client's solve rate like?"

"It's one of the best in the department," he answered reluctantly.

"So he is an effective investigator and interrogator?"

"Yes."

"And his captain seems to have a good opinion of him. He's had the same partner for the last eight years. Is their judgment in question?"

"Of course not. In spite of their association with Goren, they're both well-regarded in the department."

"'In spite of their association with Detective Goren...' Tell me...does he go off on his tangents alone? I understand his undercover assignment almost cost him his life. I also believe his captain and his partner recovered him before he was killed by prison guards at the orders of the warden. The entire ordeal was about correcting an injustice. What were the official results of the inquiry into his findings?"

Moran trembled with the effort to keep his voice calm and even. "The warden and the guards involved lost their positions and were prosecuted for torture and murder."

"So his investigation was solid? He found an injustice and he did something about it. Isn't that his job?"

"His job is to follow procedure. His job is to get the bad guy, not bring down the good ones."

"So you condone what went on in that prison facility?"

"They're prisoners for a reason."

"So they don't have any rights as human beings?"

Moran glared at the lawyer. "Don't put words in my mouth."

"They were your words, chief. I simply clarified them. You think he did the wrong thing in identifying a disability in the vision of a man who carries a gun? If he hadn't, and Detective Copa had killed a child the next time he fired at a suspect, knowing that my client knew about the disability, what would you have done?"

"I'd have his badge," Moran snapped.

Then he frowned as Moredock smiled and said, "That's quite a double standard you hold there, chief. No matter what my client did, he would have been wrong. So he did the right thing, and he was just as wrong in your eyes as if he had not. My client's strict moral standards do not 'jive' with the department's code of ethics?"

"I never said that."

"So it all boils down to a personal vendetta you have against Detective Goren?"

"There are rules and codes of behavior. He needs to follow them."

Moredock nodded. "So you don't like the man because he doesn't fit the mold. I have no more questions."

Moredock returned to his seat as Moran, red-faced with fury, stepped down, glaring at Goren, who regarded him with cool indifference. Carver leaned toward Moredock. "Well done, Barry."

McCoy was done presenting his case, and Boucher adjourned the trial for the day. Moredock and Carver looked at Goren. Carver clapped his shoulder. "That couldn't have gone better. Tomorrow, it's Barry's turn to dance."

With a brief smile, Goren nodded and rose. "I'll see you in the morning, gentlemen."

"Is something wrong, detective?" Carver asked.

He shook his head. "No, sir. I just have some thinking to do."

They watched him leave the courtroom, and Carver said, "He does a lot of thinking. Sometimes, that's not a good thing."

"In this case, Ron, maybe it is."

The two attorneys left the courtroom to prepare for the next day's testimony.

* * *

Lewis looked around the bar nervously. He glanced over his shoulder, toward a booth near the front of the room, by the large window that looked out onto the street. Eames and Logan had slipped into the booth and now she nodded at him with a small smile of encouragement. It was all he needed to proceed. Lewis was not stupid. He knew that if Bobby went to prison, he'd never make it out alive. He'd had a tough life and it was about time the guy caught a break. Over the course of a friendship that had lasted a lifetime, Bobby had gotten him out of some tight spots. Now, it was his turn to repay him. If it was one thing Lewis had never been, it was a fair-weather friend.

It didn't take much effort for him to identify Nick Mustello. He was a big guy with a loud obnoxious mouth at the back of the bar, shooting pool. Lewis leaned against the wall, silently watching the game between Mustello and a guy he called 'Barnaby'. From the scowl on the guy's face, Lewis guessed that Barnaby wasn't his actual name. His first impression of Mustello was that he was an arrogant bastard. He adjusted his glasses and continued to watch.

He wondered if Mustello would be easier to handle drunk or sober. It was a late kind of musing, though, because the guy was already halfway to obliteration. Lewis hoped that would give him an edge. Bobby always said he was fast, that he ducked like a prairie dog who spotted a hawk. His speed and balance would certainly give him an edge. Mustello's whiskey-blurred mind wouldn't be able to follow him well enough to catch him. Even so, Lewis knew he would be lucky to get out of this without any blood loss of his own.

_Make sure he bleeds on your shirt,_ Alex had reminded him. Fortunately, this wasn't a shirt he had any particular attachment to. Mike had offered his white undershirt, but Lewis didn't mind sacrificing this shirt. It was one he'd gotten at a discount store for seven bucks. His last girlfriend had liked it, but he didn't like her much any more, so it was all good.

When Mustello missed his next shot and slammed his cue into the table, Lewis decided it was time. Waiting until the guy lost the game would be akin to suicide. A passing thought asked him what classification he would give to his plan to provoke a drunk monster. _Sacrifice_, he answered. A small sacrifice for the best friend he'd ever had. Hell, if Bobby could get himself busted up for him, bad enough to actually go to the ER, the least he could do was step into the path of a charging bull and get a little blood on his shirt.

Lewis scoffed loud enough to be heard. "That was an easy shot, pal."

Mustello looked at him, eyes blazing. "What did you say?"

"I said, that was an easy shot. My crippled grandma coulda made it. You play pool like a preschooler."

The guy whose name wasn't Barnaby turned pale. "You better move on, kid."

"Yeah, I guess. There sure ain't no challenge here."

Mustello dropped his pool cue and walked around the table toward Lewis. It took a lot of effort for the mechanic to remain where he was and appear calm. Inside, he was shaking like a leaf. _Never let 'em see you sweat, buddy_... Good advice, but Bobby never did tell him how to convince his body to quit sweating.

Mustello towered above him, and the murderous rage evident in his face told Lewis this man was very capable of taking a life. It also told him that his was the next life Mustello intended to take. But he kept his outward calm as he pushed off the wall. "You're in my way, Gigantor."

Lewis hadn't really expected it to be so easy to provoke him, but it was. He heard the bellow of outrage and ducked to the left as Mustello swung. He heard a crunch as a huge fist slammed into the wall. If there had not been a stud in the wall right there, it would have been the wall that broke and not Mustello's hand.

Moving back a couple of steps, Lewis didn't even try to hide his grin. "Ouch," he taunted. "That sounded like it hurt."

When Mustello charged him, he feinted to the left then jumped right, sending the other man headlong into the bar. Three other patrons went tumbling from their stools, and Mustello hit another one just because he needed someone to hit. Lewis tsked at him like a parent would to a misbehaving toddler. "You shouldn't hit people, sonny boy."

He knew the other patrons must be thinking he was crazy, and maybe he was, but he was having a good time. When Mustello charged him the third time, he made his first, and only, offensive move. As he moved to the left again, he sent out a quick, powerful jab with his right, making contact with the bridge of Mustello's nose. As he continued to dart out of harm's way, he grinned again. The nose was the perfect target. Easily broken and prone to profuse bleeding, it also tended to generate extreme pain when damaged.

Mustello roared like a wounded bear as blood poured from his nose, unheeded. In a blind fury, spurred on by pain and whiskey, Mustello charged Lewis again. This time, Lewis didn't duck or dart away. He charged right at the enraged man, burying his shoulder in Mustello's gut and knocking him back into the pool table. There was no way Mustello could avoid bleeding all over Lewis' back, even if he wanted to.

That was when Logan intervened. Showing his badge, he forced the onlookers to back away from the combatants. Grabbing Lewis by the shirt, he growled, "I seen the whole thing, trouble. You're under arrest for assault."

Snapping his cuffs on Lewis, he propelled him toward the door and called to the bartender, "Clean-up on aisle four."

Eames slipped out of the building behind them, unnoticed, as Mustello roared and screamed at the poor suckers who were trying to help him out from where he'd landed beneath the pool table.

When they got to the car, Logan quickly removed the cuffs, Lewis yanked off his ruined shirt and shoved it at Eames, and they got into the car. As Eames drove past the bar, Mustello exploded into the street, looking up and down the block for the little guy who'd embarrassed the hell out of him by bringing him down in front of too many onlookers. Turning, he punched the window, which shattered, slicing his broken hand as glass rained around him.

Logan laughed. "That was beautiful, man."

In the back seat, Lewis smiled. "Bobby made sure he taught me how to duck."

Eames glanced at him in the mirror. "Are you sure you're okay, Lewis?"

"Not a scratch."

She was relieved. When she pulled up in front of Lewis' place, she got out of the car with him and gave him a hug. Then she leaned up to kiss him. "Thank you, Lewis. We'll call you soon."

He nodded and watched her slide back behind the wheel and drive away.


	22. Facing the Fallout

Eames sat at her desk and leaned back, satisfied. Logan dropped into Goren's chair. "I handed Lewis' shirt directly to Milo and told him to compare the blood to the unknown sample from the Hodges' scene. He'll run a DNA profile on both samples." He sighed heavily. "Lewis did a great job."

She smiled. "Yes, he did. Maybe you should get Bobby to teach you how to duck and dodge."

"Speaking of Bobby...have you heard from him?"

She frowned and looked at the time. "No, I haven't."

Logan watched her grab the phone and dial. She hung up after a moment. "He's not answering." She thought for a moment, then pulled a notepad from her top drawer and found a number, which she dialed. When the party on the other end answered, she frowned a little in confusion. "Mr. Carver? I thought I dialed Mr. Moredock's number."

Carver laughed softly. _You did, detective. He stepped out of the room. How can we help you?_

"I can't get in touch with Bobby and I was wondering how it went today. Is he all right?"

Carver sighed. _As far as I know, he's fine. He said he had some thinking to do. It was a difficult day for him, but it turned out very well. Barry was brilliant with his cross-examination of Kenny Moran._

Her face paled. "McCoy got Moran on the stand?"

_Yes. His last witness. He wanted to leave the jury with a sour taste in its mouth. Barry was able to turn it around, though. We start our case in the morning._

She swallowed hard. "If I had known, I would have been there."

_He said you were gathering evidence?_

"Yes. We got what we were after. We were able to get DNA from Mustello to compare to the unknown blood from Lori's house."

_That will prove Mustello was there but it won't prove he killed her._

"It's a place to start. If Bobby can interrogate him, he can get him."

_Let me give that some thought, detective. That might not be the best idea, due to the circumstances._ He paused. _I may have an idea, though. I'll have to discuss it with Barry and Goren._

"You're going to put him on the stand?"

_Maybe. Are you ready to testify? We'll be calling you in the morning._

"I'll be there."

_Good. I'll see you then._

"Good night, Mr. Carver."

She set the phone in its receiver and looked at Logan. "He told Carver he had thinking to do. Moran testified today."

"Great. What a day to miss."

"We should find him."

Logan raised an eyebrow. "And just where do you suggest we look? It's a big city, with thousands of bars..."

"We'll start at Battery Park."

He scoffed. "Start at the tip of the island and work our way toward the Bronx? Then what? We'd have a better chance of finding the needle in the haystack."

"Stop fussing. He likes to walk along the Esplanade at Battery Park when he needs to think. Come on."

* * *

Goren left the courthouse and walked to his car. He drove to the southern end of the island. Parking his car, he locked it up and walked toward Battery Park, hands thrust deep into his pockets. His mind wandered as he reviewed the prosecution's case. First Ross had testified, surprising him with his reluctance to berate him and his admission of respect.

Bergeron had been hostile, and Goren could not blame him. His wife had been taken from him, violently and unexpectedly, and he thought that he was the man who had done it. Had he been in Bergeron's place, he would have reacted the same way. The man sought to blame someone, anyone, for his pain, and he realized that he was the easiest, and most logical, target for that anger. He could not hold that against the man. He understood.

In his mind's eye, he could see Liz Olivet on the stand, bracing against McCoy's admonition: _You cannot protect him, Dr. Olivet._ He wondered at her inclination to do so, something he had also seen in Emil Skoda. Was he worth the protection of two psychiatrists on the department's payroll?

His mind drifted into the past as he thought about Lewis' testimony and where it had led. He'd been right to bring out the worst of his past before McCoy had a chance to blindside them with it in the courtroom. He realized with another sharp sting of regret that he had never really discussed that long ago December night with Lewis, who had been so reluctant to discuss it in open court. He needed to talk to him, to let him know for certain that he'd done no harm.

The widow's testimony had caught him very offguard. To see such raw grief after so many years, and knowing he had a hand in putting it there...He turned deeper into himself, buried beneath an avalanche of profound regret. Mrs. Caulfield's forgiveness was as ineffectual as his attempt had been to save her husband's life. That was a burden of guilt he would never shed.

Slowly, his thoughts circled around to one of his life's few turning points and the catalyst behind it: Peggy Stachowiak. With little effort beyond inherent kindness, she had inspired him to put his natural curiosity and intelligence to work. It was one of the first efforts in his life he had made in the name of love.

He stopped along the harbor path on the Esplanade at South Cove and leaned on the railing that ran along the path. He looked out across the harbor, but he wasn't seeing the water. His mind was in the past, wandering over the course of the brief time he'd spent with his English teacher. Then he recalled the warmth of her breath on his skin as she kissed him, the yielding softness of her lips against his, the cascade of emotion she'd caused to tumble through his head...and his heart...

And his thoughts unwillingly turned to Eames. With a great deal of effort, he chased them away, along with thoughts of Peggy, forcing his mind to focus on Moran's testimony, which Moredock had so effortlessly turned in his favor by revealing the chief's personal animosity toward him. That could never come back to haunt him. Not at all. He sighed deeply and stared at the water.

Unconsciously, he continued walking. The day turned into night, and he didn't notice.

* * *

Eames felt certain she would find her partner somewhere along the harbor path of the Esplanade that stretched from Chambers Street to Battery Park. If Carver was right, and he needed to think, that was where he would be. Wisely, Logan remained silent, following along behind her in the evening twilight. They continued along the walkway, searching, as the moon rose over the river. It was close to nine when she finally spotted him, leaning on the railing along the walkway and looking out toward the water. "Stay here, Mike."

"Gladly."

She shot a glare at him and walked toward her partner.

He was vaguely aware that someone had joined him, and he glanced to his left. Somewhere in his busy mind, she registered, and he drew himself back to the present moment, straightening away from the railing. "Eames."

She pulled her jacket tighter around her. "My time is improving. It only took two hours to find you tonight."

"Why didn't you call?"

She gave him an annoyed look. "Now why didn't I think of that?"

He looked embarrassed. "Oh. You did." He pulled out his phone. 6 missed calls. "Sorry. I guess I didn't hear it."

"I gathered as much. How did it go today?"

He leaned back against the railing. "Do you want my opinion, or Moredock and Carver's?"

"I already talked to Carver."

"Oh." He looked around at the brave souls who still jogged in the winter and the less hardy ones who walked along, grumbling at their dogs to 'hurry the hell up'. His brow furrowed. "Why is Logan way over there?"

"I told him to wait there. I wanted a moment to see how you're doing."

"I'm fine. He really doesn't have to hide by that tree."

She shook her head. "Wait here."

Crossing the pathway, she approached Logan and smacked him. "Stop looking so damn guilty. We didn't do anything wrong. Now come on and act normal, for Pete's sake."

"If we didn't do anything wrong, why are we hiding it from him?" he asked.

"Because I don't want him to have another meltdown," she replied.

"A meltdown about what?" came a voice from behind her, his voice lowered in the same conspiratorial hush she was using with Logan.

She closed her eyes briefly, then gave Logan an angry glare before resetting her expression to turn and face her partner. "It's nothing. Now tell me how you think it went today."

His face darkened into a scowl as he watched Logan shift uncomfortably. Eames watched him expectantly. "What's going on?" he asked suspiciously.

Eames sighed. "Nothing. Are you going to answer me?"

"First, you tell me what you did today. You were supposed to run those partials against Mustello's prints...look for evidence..."

He trailed off and took a couple of steps back, away from her. "Please...tell me you didn't go after him."

Confidently, she replied, "We didn't go after him. We don't have the evidence yet."

He looked from her to Logan. "Then what happened?"

Eames glanced at Logan and they exchanged a look. Logan sighed. "He came looking for us," he said, his voice tentative.

Goren shoved his hand through his hair. "Why? How did he even know who you were?"

Eames could sense the mounting tension in Goren as his mind began grasping at suspicions. She knew it was inevitable that he would find out, and Logan's guilt would have him singing like a songbird in short order. "We stopped at the 3-9 this morning to size him up. I wanted to see him, to know what we were dealing with."

His face dark and dangerous, Goren shifted his eyes toward Logan. "You went along with that?"

"You're her partner. You know how she is. What choice did I have once she made up her mind?"

"I asked you _not_ to do that!" Goren struggled to keep his voice calm.

"Oh, wait," Logan cautioned. "It gets better."

Goren clamped a hand on the back of his neck and looked at the sky. "What else?" he growled.

Eames kicked Logan with the side of her foot and he shrugged. "He's gonna find out anyway," he grumbled.

"Find out what?" Goren asked.

Eames answered, "It was his day off, so we didn't get to see him in his squad room, but his sergeant called him and told him we were looking for him."

"He sought you out," Goren said with confidence.

"He sure did," Logan replied. "So we invited him into interrogation and asked him what he was doing at Lori's that night."

"No...tell me you didn't."

"Logan was there and Ross was watching," Eames assured him.

"Now he knows you suspect him!" he insisted angrily. "Eames, I told you to leave him alone until we had the evidence to bring him in!"

"How do you expect us to get that evidence, Goren?"

"You won't get it by confronting him!"

"You'd think that, wouldn't you?" Logan interjected, trying to dispel the tension between the partners.

Goren turned angry eyes toward him. "What?"

Logan shrugged. "We got our evidence."

"What evidence?"

"DNA evidence," Eames answered.

"From where?"

Again Eames and Logan exchanged a look. Logan's expression told Eames he was _not _going to be the one to explain what they'd asked Lewis to do. Hesitantly, Eames described what had happened at the bar in Queens between Lewis and Mustello. Logan added, "It was priceless, man. Lewis was great."

Goren was silent as he looked from one to the other. His jaw was set, muscles rigid. Both fists were clenched and his shoulders were tense. His eyes blazed with fury. Eames raised a hand. "Bobby, he was totally willing..."

"Willing...?" he growled. "You should _never _have asked him to do that! You should...I told you..." His breathing had become staggered. He pushed both hands through his hair and shook his head. He was so angry he could not think straight. He shook his head again and backed away a few steps. Turning, he walked away from them both.

"Bobby..." Eames called after him.

His long stride did not even hesitate. She looked at Logan, who said, "That was fun."

"Shut up and go home, Logan," she snapped, hurrying off down the path after her partner.

Logan hesitated, wondering about the wisdom of confronting Goren without giving him a chance to calm down. Realizing that Eames would be fine, that Goren would never harm her, no matter how angry he was with her, he walked along the path back toward his car.


	23. The First Witnesses for the Defense

Anger coursed like boiling water through his veins, into his head, and he saw the world through a red haze. He had no destination in mind; he just walked to burn off the rage. How the hell could they have brought Lewis in on this? Mustello could have...would have...killed him and never given it a second thought, like he never gave Lori a second thought. Images of Lori, throat cut, spread out on the bed in a final humiliation, only served to fuel his rage.

He did not hear Eames approach him, and when she grabbed his arm and yanked, he spun toward her, fists clenched, face a mask of barely controlled fury. His hands shook and he towered above her, standing at his full height without making any effort to minimize his size. "How could you do that?" he growled, his tone menacing. "Don't I have enough on my fucking conscience?"

In all the years she had known him, Eames had never feared him, but suddenly, she did, and she stepped back from him. He stared at her, and it took several long moments for her fear to register with him. He stepped backwards, away from her, mortified with himself that he could put that fear in her. For the second time that night, he walked away from her. This time, she let him go.

Pulling her coat more tightly around her, she turned and headed south along the Esplanade, in the opposite direction from the one he had taken. She walked slowly, thinking hard about what she had just seen in him. Now she knew what lurked just beneath the surface of his control. Now, she knew exactly what he feared, what he worked so damn hard to contain. And yet, as furious as he'd been, he'd only lashed out verbally. No, that man did not have it in him to take a life the way Lori Hodges' had been taken. But Nick Mustello did, and she could not regret what they had done that night. She was not going to let her partner make her regret it either.

It was past eleven when she got home, but her mind had not left her partner. She wondered if she had done the right thing by letting him go the second time. She hoped he would be able to calm himself and get some sleep. Several times she had almost changed her mind and gone after him, but this time, she had no idea where he would go. She found his car and waited by it for awhile, but he didn't come back to it. She went home.

Unable to erase her mind of the image of his fury, a long time passed before she finally slept.

* * *

Carver looked up from his file when Goren stepped past him the next morning. The big detective sat heavily and rubbed his face. "Are you all right, detective?"

He nodded. "I, uh, I didn't sleep last night."

He'd spent the night wandering the streets of lower Manhattan, finding his way home with barely enough time to shower and change and then get to the courthouse.

Three times he'd stopped in at different bars, but each time, he left with only a few drinks in him, too angry to trust himself with more. By the time the sun rose, he had calmed down a great deal, but he was still very angry. How could they have confronted Mustello, knowing what he was capable of, and dragged Lewis into it as well? He was disappointed in both Eames and Logan, and he knew he would have to keep his thoughts away from what happened while they were in court or the jury would misread his tension. He felt betrayed. She had _promised_. He had no idea how he was going to resolve this one.

Carver leaned closer. "Are you sure you're all right?"

He nodded. "Why? Do I look that bad?"

"To someone who knows you? Yes."

"Hopefully the jury doesn't," he grumbled. He looked at Carver and found curiosity and concern in the lawyer's eyes. "They confronted Mustello yesterday," he said quietly. "After I'd asked her not to. He's dangerous, and now he knows they're looking at him. He killed Lori, Mr. Carver. He brutally beat her and then he killed her. And he would not be above doing the same thing to anyone he feels is a threat to him. I stand accused. I'm no threat to him. But Eames and Logan...they're on his hit list now."

"Surely he must realize that if he's a suspect, they are not the only ones aware of it."

"That won't matter to him. I'll bet money he's done it before and gotten away with it. He set me up good. He'll take them out and make it look like a random crime. He's damn good at covering his tracks. They have no idea what they've done."

"I'll talk to Captain Ross."

Goren shrugged, uncertain of what good it would do. He rubbed his temple again. _Eames_...another woman he couldn't protect. He felt helpless, and he hated that feeling. He wouldn't make the mistake of being drunk a second time. If he lost her, he'd go to death row with Mustello's blood on his hands.

A firm hand came to rest on his shoulder and he turned to see Mike Logan ease into a chair in the gallery behind him, an apologetic look on his face. "You don't look so hot. You okay?"

Goren turned in his chair and leaned closer to him. "No, I'm not okay, dammit."

"Look, I tried to talk her out of it. I _knew _it wasn't a good idea. But she wouldn't listen to me. Bobby, she's desperate to clear you. We all know it was Mustello..."

"And now he knows you know it, too," Goren hissed. "Dammit, Mike..."

"The best I could do was stay with her 'cause she was going with or without me. You _know_ how stubborn she is. So tell me I was wrong."

Goren's eyes were hard. "You weren't wrong to stay with her. But you should have found a way to stop her."

"Clue me in, pal. Just how the hell do I do that without getting shot?"

Frustrated, Goren turned away from him. Logan leaned forward and growled, "Maybe she just cares too damn much."

Goren turned and snapped, "Maybe she does."

Logan watched him turn away again and shook his head. They were both too damn stubborn for their own good. He leaned back in his seat and crossed his arms.

* * *

Eames arrived as Boucher called the court to order. She looked tired. Logan leaned toward her as she sat down. "He's still really pissed," he whispered.

"He'll get over it," she responded.

"You can't ignore this, Eames. You have to work it out with him."

She hushed him and turned her attention to the proceedings as Moredock rose from his place and called her to the stand.

Moredock watched her approach, thinking she didn't look much better than his client did. They both looked tired, but he saw an unsettled restlessness in Goren that had not been there before and he wondered what put it there.

Logan's gaze wandered around the gallery, and his blood ran cold when he locked gazes with Nick Mustello. _Oh, fuck._ Mustello had two black eyes and tape across his nose. Logan smirked at him, which he returned before looking away. Logan leaned forward and reached over to touch Goren's back. Goren inclined a little in his direction and Logan whispered into his ear. "Mustello's here."

Goren tensed and gave him a brief nod, returning his focus to his partner's testimony. But his tension level shot through the roof and he did not have the ability to hide it. He needed to move, but couldn't and it was driving him crazy. He shifted in his seat and balled his fists on the table in front of him. With difficulty, he laid his hand flat on the table. Everything was going to hell quickly and he had no idea how to stop it.

Moredock's questioning drew no surprises. Eames recounted their success as partners and her evaluation of his investigative style and ethical standards. Then McCoy had a shot at her. "Detective Eames, isn't it true that you had a falling out with your partner during the last year and a half or so?"

"I wouldn't call it that, no. My partner was going through a very difficult time in his personal life and he withdrew from everyone around him, including me. I tried to help him, but he resisted anyone's help."

"Tell the court what happened the night of the Hodges' murder."

"I wasn't there, Mr. McCoy."

"Just tell us about your involvement that night."

She frowned, wondering where he could be going with this. "He showed up at my apartment at three o'clock in the morning."

"In what condition?"

"He was injured and he collapsed after stepping through the door. I called an ambulance right away."

"Did you realize he had been drinking?"

"I knew he had because I talked to him a few hours earlier."

"Yet you were surprised when he turned up at your door?"

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Yes. Very surprised."

McCoy nodded. "Thank you, detective."

Confused, Eames stepped down from the stand. McCoy's questioning seemed incomplete. She looked toward the defense table, but Goren wouldn't look at her. _Stubborn ass._ She had no trouble reading his tension, though, and she knew the jury would see it as well. She took her seat beside Logan, who leaned toward her and whispered, "Mustello's here, in the back."

"What is he doing here?"

"I have no idea, but I don't like it. You need to stay close to me, all right?"

"What the hell do you think he's going to do here?"

Logan frowned. "He's unpredictable and he's dangerous. Just humor me, will ya?"

She scoffed. "What? Do you think he's going to follow me home?"

"As a matter of fact, yeah. I think that's a good bet. I'll feel a lot better if you go home with him or with me."

She shook her head. "I don't think he wants me around and I am not spending the night on your couch."

"Fine. Then I'll spend it on yours."

She gave him a look he couldn't read and didn't particularly want to, but she didn't argue any more.

Moredock had done a great job in his cross-examination of McCoy's witnesses, but Goren knew he did not have a huge witness pool from which to draw in his defense. Goren was fully aware of the fact that there were not many people who would go to bat for him at a time like this. Many more were more inclined to be on McCoy's list than Moredock's.

After Eames had returned to her seat, Moredock recalled Lewis to the stand. Lewis called Eames that morning after taking Moredock's call, and she had cautioned him not to say a word about their encounter with Mustello. It wouldn't come up in the questioning and she cautioned him not to bring it up. Other than that, she'd told him just to answer Moredock's questions.

Goren studied Lewis as he took the stand, relieved to see no bruises on him. When Lewis glanced his way, he didn't react, knowing if he did, it would be with anger, so he remained withdrawn. He knew that Eames was behind him beside Logan, but he pushed that from his mind. The fact that Mustello was there caused him more concern.

Moredock began, "Mr. Ruzicki, how long have you been friends with the defendant?"

"For as long as I can remember. It seems like I always knew him."

"You testified that you and he drifted apart when you were sixteen, the summer before your junior year, when he got into trouble for the Caulfield break-in."

"Yeah. Bobby hasn't changed much as an adult. He's got a very curious mind, and he's always gotta figure stuff out. But he gets bored real easy, too. That summer, he was bored, so he went looking for something to challenge him. He got involved with some of his brother's friends and he thought he found the challenge he needed."

"You said you tried talking to him?"

"I did, but he kinda blew me off. He said I could come along with him, if I really wanted to, but they didn't like me much. I was a prime target for their teasing and pranks."

"And he let them get away with it?"

"What? No! Never. He _always _stuck up for me. When we were seven, some eighth graders were picking on me, pushing me around and calling me names. Bobby punched one of them and got sent to the principal for fighting. I was never even implicated. He always protected me. But I didn't want to get him in trouble with his new buddies, so I stayed away. Maybe if I hadn't he wouldn't have been there that night."

Moredock's voice was kind. "Or maybe you would have."

He nodded. "Yeah, maybe."

"Were you aware of the drugs those boys were involved with?"

"Everybody knew. They were the go-to guys for anything you wanted."

"And Bobby?"

Lewis shook his head. "No. He never dealt. I mean...he'd give me some pot every once in awhile, and he'd smoke with me sometimes, but he was never involved in dealing."

"You seem certain."

"I _am _certain."

Moredock nodded. "Were you aware of his own use?"

Lewis shook his head. "No. Well, I kinda guessed, because of the way he came to school once in awhile. But it wasn't often, and...well, like I said, we really didn't hang out much."

"When he got into trouble that December...were you surprised?"

"Not really, no. I saw it coming. He did, too, but he ignored the warnings. He...he was looking for that challenge, the adrenaline high...for something that was missing in his life. He could be reckless, you know, and he never thought about the consequences. That came back on him in a big way."

"Did you know he'd been injured that night?"

"I knew he was hurt, yeah," he replied, looking toward Goren. "But I thought his dad did it. I never knew he'd been shot. We never talked about it. After that night, he started hanging with me again, and I didn't care what kind of trouble he'd been in."

"The prosecution has alleged that because he was abused as a child he is predisposed toward violence as an adult. What do you think about that?"

"Objection!" McCoy rose from his chair. "Relevance. The witness is not an expert."

"I beg to differ. No one has known the defendant better or for longer. He is fully qualified to comment on this."

"Overruled. Go on, Mr. Moredock."

Moredock looked at Lewis, eyebrows raised expectantly. "So what do you say?"

Lewis shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Bobby's mom was sick, and his dad was...hard on him. He spent a lot of time at my house, especially when his mom was in the hospital. He...he was always a good guy. Bullies never picked on the little kids around him. The girls...he always made 'em feel special. He was always a good friend. He never started a fight. He got into trouble sometimes, but what kid didn't? He grew up good, in spite of his folks and his brother. He always told me he was going to be better than they were, that he was gonna prove his old man wrong, and he did."

"Thank you, Mr. Ruzicki."

McCoy got to his feet. "You've had ample opportunity to see the defendant drunk, haven't you, Mr. Ruzicki?"

"Yeah, I have."

"Would you say his disposition changes?"

Lewis shrugged. "Not really. He gets real quiet sometimes, or he can be funny as hell, but he doesn't get mean. He didn't do what you say he did, Mr. McCoy. He doesn't have it in him to do that."

He was much calmer than he'd been the other day, and McCoy dismissed him. As he stepped from the stand, Lewis hoped he'd done better this time and actually helped his friend. Looking toward the defense table, he sought some indication from Goren that this time had been better, but Goren wouldn't look in his direction. He glanced toward Eames, who gave him a reassuring smile. He returned to his place in the gallery, two rows behind her.

At the back of the courtroom, Mustello watched him. Then he looked toward Logan and Eames. Everything had fallen into place for him and he was not going to let them screw it up. He was going to make sure that Goren went down for Lori's murder, one way or another.


	24. A Difficult Testimony

Moredock called his next witness, James Deakins, to the stand. He withdrew a paper from a folder beside Carver and looked at the former captain. "Mr. Deakins, you were captain of the Major Case Squad for a number of years, until your resignation in mid-2006."

"Yes, I was."

"How long did you know the defendant?"

"He joined my squad in 2000, following a very successful four years with the Narcotics Squad."

"Captain Ross testified that he is an effective investigator in spite of his difficult disposition. Would you concur with that?"

"That he is an effective investigator? Absolutely. That he is difficult, sometimes. It took Captain Ross awhile to warm up to Goren."

"Why is that, do you suppose?"

Deakins thought for a moment. "Captain Ross has a strong personality and he joined the squad with a number of preconceived notions toward my detectives. That attitude clashed with Goren in a big way. But they worked it out."

"Did he clash with you?"

"Rarely. He was usually respectful and cooperative."

"Have you ever known him to be violent?"

Deakins shook his head. "No. He is not a violent man. He was always compassionate, concerned with justice, for the victims and suspects alike."

Moredock held up the paper in his hand. "You put up your home, the home where you raised your children, as a property bond for a third of his bail."

"Yes, we did."

"That's huge."

Deakins shook his head. "I trust him and I have never questioned his innocence."

Moredock nodded. "Thank you."

McCoy rose. "Captain Deakins, that's a huge risk to take with your home."

"Why is that, Mr. McCoy? Because you believe he's guilty? That's your job. I know Robert Goren. I know his nature and I know what he is and is not capable of. He did not kill Lori Hodges."

McCoy frowned. "How can you say that with such certainty?"

"Aside from the fact that I do not believe he could do to a person what was done to her, he knew her. That makes it even more unlikely he would have harmed her."

"In your opinion."

"Yes, Mr. McCoy. In my opinion."

"Are you using the same judgment you used when you fought to have Detective Logan placed on your squad? The same detective who punched a councilman, started a riot in a firehouse and killed a fellow officer, leading directly to your resignation?"

As Carver placed a restraining hand on Goren's shoulder and spoke quietly into his ear, Moredock jumped to his feet. "Objection, your honor!"

"Sustained. That is quite enough of that, Mr. McCoy."

McCoy nodded, hiding a small smirk. "I have nothing further."

Deakins stepped down, shooting a hot glare at the prosecutor as he passed him.

In the gallery, Logan leaned back, eyes hot with anger. "That wasn't called for," he growled to Eames.

"McCoy's known for doing things like this."

He dropped his head to his chest. He still felt the sting of guilt for the role he'd played in Deakins' resignation. He didn't need to be reminded of it. Goren turned in his chair to look at him but Logan waved off his concern.

Goren's eyes shifted toward Eames, and he held her gaze until Moredock leaned close and said, "Are you ready?"

With a deep sigh, Goren turned toward him and nodded. Rising to his feet, Moredock called him to the stand.

The defense attorney paced in front of the stand, seemingly deep in thought, before he raised his head and looked at his client. "Detective Goren, how long have you been a police officer?"

"Counting my time in the Army's Criminal Investigation Division, twenty-eight years."

"Did you get into any trouble in the Army?"

"None to speak of, no."

Moredock paced a little more. "How many years have you been with NYPD?"

"Sixteen."

"And as a detective?"

"Twelve."

"Any commendations?"

"Yes."

"For?"

Goren shifted restlessly, uncomfortable with self-promotion. "Valor, above and beyond the call of duty."

"Once?"

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Four times."

Moredock nodded. "So you take your job seriously."

"Yes, sir, I do."

"To serve and protect."

Goren nodded. "Yes, Mr. Moredock. To serve and protect."

"Tell the court about your record with the narcotics squad."

Again he shifted uncomfortably. "I was with narcotics for 4 years. I ran three sting operations that resulted in twenty-seven arrests and twenty-seven convictions, all major dealers."

"That is impressive. And your time with Major Case?"

"My partner and I have an almost perfect conviction record. None of the confessions I have gotten have failed to stand in court."

Moredock nodded. "That supports the statements we have heard that you are an effective officer." The attorney consulted another paper from the file on his table. "When you were arrested, you told the officers you did not remember the events leading up to the murder of Lori Hodges. Is that true?"

"Yes, sir."

"The medical record corroborates your claim of amnesia due to the severity of the head injury you received. Has any of that changed?"

"Yes, sir."

Moredock nodded. "Explain."

Goren's eyes scanned the gallery until he found Mustello. "My, uh, my memory came back."

Mustello's eyes widened with the realization of what that meant in connection with Eames and Logan's recent interest in him. But he was still certain nothing could tie him to the crime scene. As long as Goren was good for the murder, he was safe.

Moredock stopped in front of the stand. "Tell the court what happened that night."

"I was home alone. After dinner, I watched television and drank a few beers. Sometime between ten and eleven, I called my partner. Then I, uh, I drank a couple more beers and watched television for awhile. I started to doze off...The phone rang. It was Lori Hodges. She was crying, terrified...someone was coming after her and she wanted my help."

"What did you do?"

"I called a cab."

"And when you arrived at her home?"

"She was frantic. She kept saying he was going to hurt her, maybe kill her. I tried to calm her down. When I turned to lock the door, someone smashed it in, and I got knocked into the wall. He chased her upstairs."

"You knew it was a he?"

He nodded. "The footfalls were too heavy for a woman. Then I heard him yelling at her. I ran up the stairs after them."

Moredock leaned against the table and crossed his arms. "Did you engage him?"

Goren nodded. "I did. I..." He looked toward the floor, his hands balled in his lap, struggling to remain composed. "I...gave her a chance...to get away...She...she should have left!"

Moredock's face coalesced into a concerned frown and he waited. Goren took a minute to struggle with the memory of that night. Then he continued, his voice still tight. "She had more than one chance to get away."

"Why do you think she didn't?"

Goren looked up to meet his lawyer's eyes. "She found her courage in a different kind of fear. She..." He closed his eyes. "She felt a need...to...to back me up...to help me." He shook his head. "She should never have tried," he said quietly, almost to himself. "She should have left."

Moredock waited a moment before asking, "What did she do?"

Goren moistened his lips. "She...went after him with a baseball bat. He, uh, he broke her arm, wresting it away. He...he had a knife...and he..." Unconsciously, he hand strayed over the healing wound in his side. "He sliced me and then he killed her. He came after me again and managed to knock me down the stairs. Then he...he went to finish with her. I...I regained consciousness at the bottom of the stairs before he came back. I knew she was dead. I...I failed..."

In her seat, Eames was silently willing Moredock to leave it alone, to let her partner's statement lay where it fell. But Moredock was genuinely curious, and he knew the jury would be as well. He asked the question she silently begged him not to ask. "How did you fail?"

Goren raised his head to look at Moredock, and the lawyer was struck by the sorrow in his face, the regret, the grief... "She needed me...to help her...to protect her...to...to save her...and I let her down. I failed when it counted most."

Eames bit her lip. It was a failure that hit him hard, one he still struggled to find some way to live with. She hoped Moredock could see that.

There was no mistaking the distress in Goren 's expression and his bearing. Moredock shifted his line of questioning a little. "The crime scene report indicates there was blood from a third person in Lori's bedroom."

"That's right, but it hasn't been identified yet."

"Did you recognize the man who killed her?"

Goren's eyes strayed around the courtroom and settled on Mustello, whose face grew stormy. He felt his own anger well inside because Mustello knew without a doubt that Eames and Logan were investigating him, that they knew for certain what he had done. Goren nodded. "I know him," he said. "But I can't identify him in open court. It would jeopardize an active investigation."

"Detective Goren, did you murder Lorraine Hodges?"

"No, sir. I did not."

Moredock nodded. "Thank you."

He returned to his seat as McCoy rose. "Lorraine Hodges felt her life was in danger and she called you for help and not the police?"

Goren's mouth tightened. "I _am _the police."

"Neither of you called 911 to report an intruder?"

"Everything happened too fast. I was engaged with him and didn't have a chance to make a call. Lori probably never thought about it."

"Why didn't you call it in when she called you?"

"I didn't know what was going on. I went to her place to check on her, to see why she was so upset. I can only speculate why she called me."

"Please do."

Goren sighed heavily. "She was having an affair with this man and she broke it off. His reaction to that frightened her. She called me because she knew I would come to help her. She knew I wouldn't turn her down. If she made the call to dispatch, there would be a permanent record of her infidelity, and she was trying to avoid that. I'm not saying her judgment was sound. She was in a panic and she just reacted without putting any thought into it."

"And her reaction was to call you, a man she had not seen or spoken to in eight years?"

"My phone number is unlisted. The only way Lori could have gotten it was to ask someone. She may have gone to visit my mother before she died, or she might still have had friends in the department she was in touch with. I don't know. But the fact that she went to any effort at all to get my number tells me she was meaning to call me at some point."

"How would she know you would respond to her cry for help?"

"I'm a cop. That's my job."

"You're still a man and she dumped you all those years ago for another man."

Goren frowned. "Dumped me? Mr. McCoy, I never dated her. We were friends, nothing more. But I did care about her. She chose love over friendship when forced to make the choice, and I never held that against her. I didn't like that her boyfriend made her choose, but I respected her decision. I had no reason to hold anything against her and when she called me, I responded."

McCoy pulled a paper from a folder. "The lab work they did on you in the hospital...it indicates a blood alcohol level consistent with significant impairment. Do you think that had any bearing on your failure to save Lorraine Hodges' life?"

The truth was he had considered that, and he honestly could not find an answer. It was possible it did, but it was just as possible it would not have mattered. There was no way he would ever know. "I honestly don't know, Mr. McCoy. Her assailant and I were fairly well matched to size and strength. His rage gave him an edge, I suppose, over my desperation. My only intent was to save her life. I don't know what his intent was when he broke into her home, but I do know that before he left, he intended to take two lives."

"When you left her home, you still never called in the assault. Why not?"

He looked at his hands and let out a soft sigh. "I was injured. I was bleeding heavily from my side and I had a serious head injury. The only thought in my head was to get to my partner, and that's where I went. Lori was dead. Whether I called it in or not, she would still be dead and her killer would still be gone from the scene. My failure to make that call did not matter to her life."

"If you were bleeding heavily, why did the crime scene report not make note of blood in the living room?"

"Because there was none. Mr. Bergeron told investigators there was a rug at the bottom of the stairs that was missing. I don't know why he would have disposed of it, but he did."

"He did? Are you sure you weren't the one who disposed of more evidence?"

"I didn't dispose of any evidence. Believe me, evidence of any kind was not on my mind right then."

"So you left the scene of a murder?"

"I told you, I wasn't thinking straight."

"Fair enough. Why did you seek your partner instead of a hospital or ambulance?"

His lips drew into a tight line. "Whenever my life spins beyond my control, I turn to her. Somehow...she can make my life more tolerable. She keeps me balanced. I can't explain it. I just know she does. I wasn't sure what had happened to me at that point. I just knew I had to get to Eames, and she'd take care of the details."

"That's a lot of faith to place in one person."

He nodded. "I know. It isn't fair to her."

He fell silent, and McCoy moved in for the kill. "Suppose your partner needs you, detective, and you repeat your performance of that night and fail her?"

Goren stiffened and turned dark, angry eyes to the prosecutor. "Do you think that never occurred to me, Mr. McCoy? Do you think for one minute that I don't live with that fear every day of my working life? I would have died in Lori's place and I would do no less for my partner."

McCoy's eyes narrowed at the fire in the man's response to him. "You can't protect her from prison, detective. You should have thought of that before you killed Lori Hodges."

He returned to his seat, and silence permeated the courtroom. Moredock stood. "Redirect, your honor?"

Boucher nodded. "Go ahead, Mr. Moredock."

Moredock spoke into Carver's ear, and the voice that spoke to snare Goren's attention from his hands was Carver's. "Did you kill her, detective?"

Goren looked up and met Carver's dark eyes. There was no deceit in his posture, his words or his expression. "No, Mr. Carver. I did not."

"Do you honestly believe you did everything you possibly could to save her life?"

Goren nodded. "Yes, sir. I know I did."

"Then you have no reason to feel guilty for the events of that night." He nodded a thank you at the judge. "I have nothing more."

Boucher said, "You may step down, detective. Court is adjourned until 1 o'clock this afternoon."

Goren stepped from the stand and walked stiffly to his chair. He buried his face in his hands, not responding when Carver rested a hand on his shoulder and gently squeezed. He heard the sounds around him die down as people filtered out of the courtroom for lunch. As silence descended upon the almost deserted room, he lowered his hands and looked at them. They were shaking. He linked his fingers together and tightened his grip, drawing in slow, deep breaths as he tried desperately to calm himself.

He started when a pair of hands came to rest on his tense shoulders. The grip tightened, fingers pressing into taut muscle. He trembled. A soft cheek brushed against his ear and an equally soft voice carried on the whisper of her breath. "You did well up there," she murmured. "That had to have been difficult. You really shouldn't stay in here. Let's go for a walk."

He hesitated, and her fingers dug into his muscles a little more. She lowered her head back to his ear. "We need to talk, Bobby. Come on."

He closed his eyes for a long moment, focusing on the fingers that kneaded his fatigued muscles. Abruptly, he rose, dislodging her hands, and he strode from the courtroom. Shaking her head, she followed him.


	25. An Unusual Strategy

Eames left the courthouse and caught her partner on the steps leading down to the street. When she grabbed his arm, he turned. Standing two steps above him, she was able to stare him down, face-to-face. Her grip on his arm tightened. "I will not apologize for what we did," she said. "I would do it again if I had to. So get over it." She moved her face closer to his. "I will not see you go to prison for another man's crime and I will do anything I can to prove your innocence. I am _not _sorry for it."

"You have no idea what he's capable of," he insisted, his anger heating. "You opened yourselves up to an unnecessary danger."

She studied his face. "To keep you out of jail, it's worth it."

He shook his head. "Your life is not worth mine, Eames. Do not risk yourself because you think you can save me. The outcome of this trial is no longer relevant to him. He knows that you and Logan suspect him. You are a threat to him now."

She shrugged. "So we bait him and..."

His eyes widened. "No! Dammit, Eames, no. Stay away from him." The tone of his voice changed. "Stay away, or I will change my plea."

She stared at him. "You would go to jail in his place?"

"To keep you safe? Yes."

"Bobby, we got the evidence..."

"You got evidence that will put him at the scene. You have nothing that will put that knife in his hand."

"McCoy hasn't put it in yours either."

He closed his eyes and drew in several deep breaths, struggling to remain calm. "I asked you not to go after him for a reason, Eames. I can't protect you..."

"Who asked you to?" she snapped, her own anger rising to meet his. "You can't save the world, Goren."

His expression changed, but his voice was still tight with anger. "I never wanted to save the world. Only the few people who matter to me in my little corner of it."

He turned away from her and continued down the steps. She watched him walk away, and she let him go. She didn't know whether she wanted to scream or cry. He could be so frustrating.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder and Logan's voice drifted past her ear. "Are you okay?"

"I don't know what I am. Sometimes I want to hold him and chase away all the demons that haunt him and other times I want to just shoot him."

"And now?"

"I can't decide. He's still very angry. Do you think we screwed up that badly going after Mustello?"

"No, I don't think so. But it's not my opinion that matters. Come on, Carver and Moredock want to talk to you."

She looked off down the street in the direction her partner had gone. "Damn you, you stubborn ass," she murmured to herself. If she didn't care so damn much about him, she would simply walk away, but it was too late for that. Her heart would not let her.

As they walked into the courthouse, Eames' phone rang. She pulled it out and held an abbreviated conversation with the person on the other end. By the time she was done talking, they were back in the courtroom. She sat beside Carver and said, "I just got a call from Dr. Rodgers. Preliminaries on the blood from Lewis' shirt indicate it's a match for the unknown at Lori Hodges' house. It's Nick Mustello's blood. He was definitely the other person in her room that night. Mustello killed Lori Hodges."

Carver and Moredock looked at each other and Moredock nodded. Carver turned back to Eames. "Where is Goren?"

"I guess he went to get lunch. He's still angry because of what we did with Mustello, so he's not really talking to me."

_Your life is not worth mine._ His words hung heavy in her mind, but she pushed them away before their effect showed on her face. _Stupid, stupid ass._ She forced herself to tune in to what Carver was saying. "I have an idea. Detective Logan, are you still on good terms with Lieutenant Van Buren?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"Run over to 1PP and get Rodgers' preliminary report in writing. Then I need you to talk to Lieutenant Van Buren and Detective Green. We're about to toss a very large monkey wrench into Jack McCoy's case and he's going to help us do it."

* * *

Goren walked aimlessly, his hands thrust deep in his pockets. How could she be so careless? Mustello was the worst kind of scum, a killer hiding behind a lawman's shield. He wondered how many other victims he'd left behind and how many of them were calls he responded to. What had Lori been thinking when she entered into a lover's relationship with the devil himself? His head was spinning in so many directions he couldn't make head or tails of his thoughts. Anxiety settled like a lead weight in the center of his gut and he was so worried about Eames he felt sick to his stomach. She was safe at the moment, but once she left the courthouse, once she was alone...

He shook the thought from his head but he could not shake the emotion that came with it. Withdrawing his hands from his pockets, he held them out in front of him. They were trembling. He couldn't go back to the courthouse like this. He had to calm down, but for once, walking was only adding to his restlessness. His racing mind would not settle.

Four blocks from the courthouse he passed a pub. Slowing his pace, he let in more thoughts, which only worsened his anxiety. Stopping, he looked back over his shoulder. He knew the place; they made a pretty good burger and he hadn't eaten since the day before. After a moment, he turned and went into the pub.

It took much longer than he would have liked to calm down. He couldn't get Eames out of his head. _I will do anything to prove your innocence._ How was he supposed to tell her he didn't want that? If it meant keeping her safe from Mustello, he would willingly go to prison. His thoughts continued to spin beyond his control. Maybe what he needed to do was take down Mustello. Then she would be safe, and it didn't matter what happened to him. She would never agree, but there was nothing he would not do to ensure that bastard never touched her. He was uncertain and an hour of thinking had done nothing to clear his mind. He looked at his half eaten burger and the empty beer glass in front of him, suddenly aware that he had no idea how many he'd had. _Great_. He might as well wipe his feet on the welcome mat at Riker's right now. _Son of a fucking bitch._

Sliding off the stool, he set a twenty on the bar and left the pub. He had another twenty minutes to get back to the courthouse. The walk would do him good this time.

As he walked he assessed how he felt, gauging how much he'd had to drink with his lunch. Sometimes his mind's tendency to wander was damned inconvenient. He was definitely more at ease than he'd been before, so maybe it was a good thing. Three or four beers he could control, and no one would be the wiser. He relaxed even more.

When he got back to the courthouse, he returned to the courtroom. Carver and Moredock were seated at the table, quietly talking between them. He looked around for Eames, disappointed, but not surprised that she was nowhere around. People were beginning to filter back into the room, so it took a few moments before he spotted Mustello, seated in a far corner, trying to blend into the wall beside him. _Bastard_. He wanted nothing more than to walk over to him and pound him, but this wasn't the time. Mustello lucked out for the moment, but he'd made up his mind on the walk back to the courthouse. If Eames would not take the threat Mustello represented seriously, he had to do something proactive to eliminate that threat. Whether she liked it or not, he was going to protect her. Mustello had taken Lori's life; he was not going to take Eames away from him as well. When the trial was adjourned for the day, he had a sick feeling that Mustello was going to make his move and set him up for the murder of another woman he cared about. Goren knew he would have to act first and that was exactly what he was going to do. By sundown, his fate would be sealed, but Nicholas Mustello would never take another life.

He took his seat next to Carver and propped his elbows on the table, massaging his temples. He was tired; he was so damn tired.

A strong hand closed on his shoulder and he looked at Ron Carver, who smiled at him. "Things are about to get very interesting. Jack McCoy is going to request to reopen his case, and we are going to let him."

Goren frowned and tried to understand how that could possibly be a good thing. "I...I don't get it."

"You don't have to. Just trust us."

Trust was not a thing that came easy to Goren, but over the years, it was something Carver had earned. The lawyer had not come this far to let him fall now. Though in the end it would not matter, he was curious to see what his team had up its collective sleeve. He looked around the courtroom again. "Have you seen Eames?"

"She and Logan are running an errand for us." He looked at his watch. "They'll be back by the time we reconvene."

Twenty minutes later, Moredock leaned over to whisper to Carver, who looked toward the back of the courtroom, pleased. He watched Ed Green approach the prosecution's table and talk earnestly with McCoy and Rubirosa. Turning in his seat, he looked at Eames and Logan. Eames nodded with a smile. Carver returned the gesture.

Goren watched Green with interest. Something was going on. Turning in his seat, he looked at his partner. She held his gaze for a moment, trying to gauge his emotional state. When she saw no anger, she leaned forward and asked, "Are you any better?"

"A little," he conceded, uneasy with her hesitancy because he knew his anger was the reason for it.

She leaned closer, bringing her mouth near his ear. "I think you're going to get a kick out of this. Moredock is going to play McCoy like a finely-tuned piano."

"How?"

Her lips barely brushed his skin and he caught his breath. She smiled. "Wait and see."

She sat back as the bailiff called the court to order and the members of the jury returned to their places. Boucher made her entrance as the twelve men and women tried once again to get a read on Goren. He was a master at the game of cat and mouse, though, and he revealed nothing to them. He appeared concerned, but not worried, collected but on edge. A study in contrasts, he intrigued those jury members who cared to try unraveling the puzzle.

Boucher addressed Moredock. "Mr. Moredock, are you ready to continue?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

"Your Honor," McCoy interrupted, rising from his chair. "The People would like an opportunity to reopen their case."

Boucher arched her eyebrows at the unusual request. "Mr. McCoy, the People set their case to rest. It's Mr. Moredock's turn to present."

"I apologize, Your Honor, but a new witness has just been brought to my attention, an eyewitness to the events in question."

Goren looked up sharply. An eyewitness? What the hell were they up to? Moredock protested, "You had the opportunity to present your case, Jack. That time has passed."

"Are you afraid of this man's testimony, Barry?"

"Enough, gentlemen," Boucher insisted. "Mr. Moredock, you have the right to object."

"A moment, please, Your Honor."

She inclined her head and Moredock returned to the table, leaning over to confer with Carver and Goren. He smiled at the two men. "Shall we let the show begin?"

"It's your show, Mr. Moredock," Goren answered, still confused by his lawyer's odd strategy but confident enough to trust the man.

Moredock turned back to Boucher. "We'll allow Mr. McCoy's witness, Your Honor."

"Very well. Go ahead, Mr. McCoy, but remember: the court is granting you a great deal of leniency with this. Watch your step."

"Yes, Your Honor. Thank you. The People call Officer Nicholas Mustello to the stand."


	26. The Final Nail in the Coffin

In the back of the courtroom, Mustello looked confused for a moment as he slowly rose from his seat. Why was he being called to the stand? His arrogant confidence quickly returned as he crossed the bar toward the bench. After being sworn in, he looked at McCoy, who began, "Officer Mustello, it has come to my attention that you were a witness, the only witness, to the murder of Lorraine Hodges."

Witness? He could run with that. "Suppose I was?"

Goren leaned forward with interest. Mustello, a witness? McCoy had everything backwards. He glanced at Carver and Moredock. His lead attorney was watching Mustello with a small smile on his face. Carver, however, was looking his way with concern. He did nothing to reassure the lawyer who sat second chair in his defense and returned his attention to the stand.

McCoy asked, "Were you at Ms. Hodges' home the night she was killed?"

"Yeah. I knew Lori. Her old man was out of town and I came by to see her."

_Perjury_, Goren thought. He was focused on the two men at the front of the courtroom, entirely unaware of the attention in the room that was focused on him. Eames and Carver watched him with concern, wondering what kind of reaction he was going to have to Mustello's testimony. Carver had not missed the beer on Goren's breath when he returned from lunch, and his concern mounted. He hadn't realized before how close to the edge the big detective really was, and Eames' presence in the row behind them was reassuring.

Eames was deeply concerned about her partner, in spite of her annoyance at his stubborn insistence on being angry with her for what she and Logan had done. She didn't know how to make him understand it was something that helped his case. She could handle herself, even with a creep like Mustello. His apparent need to protect her alternately irritated her and warmed her heart. She just didn't know what to do with him.

Across the room, several members of the jury watched Goren as well. Two housewives were intrigued by the big, quiet man. A psychologist studied him for clear signs of guilt or remorse, and while he saw both, they were not quite the reactions he would expect from a man who was guilty of the crime for which Goren stood accused. In the row behind the psychologist and two seats over, a seasoned, retired cop had the same thoughts. A construction worker at the end of the back row wondered if there was more to the victim's death than met the eye, and at the far end of the jury box, a father of two could not decide if he wanted Goren protecting his daughters or locked away from them.

"What was your relationship to the victim?" McCoy asked.

"We were friends." He looked at Goren as he put an odd emphasis on the word _friends_. "Like Goren was with her."

Moredock wrote on the pad in front of him as McCoy fixated on the inference in Mustello's words. He asked, "Are you inferring that the defendant was more than friends with Ms. Hodges?"

Mustello looked toward Goren and a cruel smile slithered across his face. "Yeah, I think he was. He was with Lori when I got there."

Goren's only reaction to the accusation was an almost imperceptible furrowing of his brow. Most of the jury members missed it. The psychologist and the father did not. McCoy went on. "He was _with _her? In what way?"

"I dunno, Mr. McCoy. He was there when I got there, and we got into a fight. I have no idea what he was doin' with Lori."

"What was the fight about?"

"What else do guys fight over when a pretty woman's involved? He was jealous and he didn't like me bein' there with Lori. Things got a little out of hand."

Again, Goren's only reaction was a shallow furrowing of his brow. Jealousy...? He had never felt any jealousy over Lori. He'd never loved her that way. McCoy stopped in front of the stand and asked directly, "Officer Mustello, did you see Detective Goren kill Lorraine Hodges?"

Another smirk curled Mustello's lips. "I sure did," he answered.

"So why haven't you come forward?"

He shrugged. "I like to stay under the radar. You got the guy. You didn't need me to say nothin'."

"Are you aware that your blood was found at the murder scene?"

"No. I didn't know that. How do you know it's my blood and not his?"

McCoy looked down at the report Green had handed to him. "It's not his blood or the victim's. You have been identified as the third person whose blood was found at the scene."

"I never gave blood for exclusion," Mustello said with a frown as he fixed an odd look on Eames. "I didn't even know I was a person of interest."

"Your DNA must be in the system."

"If it was, that ID woulda come up before now. I smell a rat."

"Regardless of what you smell, officer, you have admitted under oath that you were there."

Mustello looked at Goren, who continued to watch him with interest. That made Mustello very uncomfortable. McCoy stepped away, set the paper on his table and looked back at his last witness. "How long have you been a cop, Officer Mustello?"

"Eighteen years."

Goren closed his eyes for a moment as Moran's voice filled his head. _Since when is a cop's ID not good enough? _Here was another murder, another cop, another ID that wasn't good enough. Only one thing kept him from just tossing in the towel and calling it quits, and that was the woman sitting behind him, the partner who believed in him, the friend who loved him. It was for her that he was sitting here at all, subjecting himself to this trial.

When he opened his eyes, he found Mustello glaring at him. He glared right back. It wasn't until the man smiled and shifted his eyes that Goren bristled. Mustello shifted his gaze to Eames. Goren got the message loud and clear, and he knew without a doubt that his partner was in danger from Mustello.

McCoy's next question drew Mustello's attention away from Goren. "How is your record, officer?"

The silent encounter between the two men went largely unnoticed by the people in the courtroom. Carver and Moredock noticed, and neither man liked it. Eames and Logan noticed, and they didn't like it, either.

Across the room, three of the jurors took notice as well: the psychologist, the retired cop and the father of two, who wanted only to tuck his children into bed in a safer world than the one they woke up in. None of them misinterpreted the exchange. Something had happened in Lori Hodges' bedroom, and they were beginning to believe that the picture painted by the prosecution was very different from the truth of what had happened that night.

Mustello lifted the corner of his mouth in a gesture of amusement. "I have a few marks for being too rough with suspects."

"Anything else?"

"I've gotten in a few fights. Nothing major."

This cop was not the stellar witness McCoy had been hoping for. He looked at Boucher. "I have nothing more, Your Honor, but I would like the chance to recall the witness when I've had a little more time to prepare."

"That's a reasonable request, Mr. McCoy. Any objections, Mr. Moredock?"

"No, Your Honor."

"He's your witness now."

Moredock rose and stepped forward. "You were there the night Lori Hodges was murdered."

"Yeah, I was."

"And you claim you watched my client kill her."

"That's right. Just because he says he don't remember that night don't mean it didn't happen."

The lawyer nodded slowly, as though agreeing with him. "You stood by and watched another man commit a murder without intervening."

Mustello glared at him. "Well..." he said after a moment. "What could I do?"

Moredock shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Your job, maybe?"

"I wasn't on duty," he protested.

"So you hang up your responsibilities to the oath you took to serve and protect when you hang up your uniform?"

Mustello waved an arm. "What cop don't?"

This man was a real gem. Moredock felt the hair on the back of his neck bristle. If he'd ever doubted Goren's recall, he didn't now. It was exceedingly clear to him that Mustello was capable of murder, that he had, in fact, committed one. "Officer Mustello, by your own admission, you have a history of violence on the job."

"So? I got a temper. It ain't a crime."

Moredock laughed. "No, indeed. It's not. But what happened to Lori Hodges _is _a crime. A violent crime. My client doesn't have a spotless record, but he does not have a record of violence."

Mustello touched his jaw. "He was violent that night."

Goren leaned toward Carver and touched his arm, speaking softly into his ear. Carver looked at him, and a slow smile spread across his face. He nodded. Goren rose and stepped around the table, eyebrows raised at Boucher, questioning.

Sensing his intent, and knowing his reputation, she nodded. If his lawyer was all right with his questioning, she would let him have a chance with this witness.

Goren spoke with Moredock, who smiled and patted his shoulder as he returned to his seat. McCoy looked at Rubirosa and was on the verge of objecting when she grabbed his arm. "Let him have a shot at it, Jack," she whispered.

Reluctantly, McCoy swallowed his objection and turned his full attention to the front of the courtroom.

Goren studied Mustello, who was suddenly very uncomfortable. "You had an affair with Lori Hodges," Goren began, speaking with confidence.

"What of it? That prissy little number cruncher she married couldn't satisfy her. You know how she was."

"No. No, I don't."

Mustello's eyes narrowed. "You were there at twelve-thirty at night. You sure as hell weren't playing cards."

"No, we weren't. I was there because she called me. She called me for protection because she was afraid of you. She tried to step away from the affair but you didn't want to let her go." Mustello remained silent. "She wasn't the kind to be unfaithful, but she saw something in you that she couldn't get from her husband. Guilt eventually got the better of her and she ended it. Or maybe her husband found out and told her to choose, and she chose him. It doesn't really matter. What matters is that she ended it, and you couldn't let her go."

"That's all speculation."

"Is it? So you were all right with Lori calling the shots?"

Mustello slammed his hand on the edge of the witness box, causing several jurors and a few spectators to jump. "No one calls the shots but me. She had no business trying to end it. I say when it's over and it wasn't over."

Goren scratched his ear. "So what were you going to do, Nick?"

"Just talk."

"Talk her into staying with you because you're not such a bad guy. Convince her that she doesn't want to give up what drew her to you in the first place...that raw passion...you know, the good stuff..."

Mustello's eyes glowed at the memories Goren evoked. "Yeah. The _good _stuff."

Goren's jaw tightened, but he continued cautiously, "You called her in the middle of the night to discuss the good stuff..." Goren sounded distant, distracted, but when he turned toward Mustello, his eyes were clear and focused. "So why did she call _me _in the middle of the night in a panic? You said something that terrified her."

Mustello scoffed, his anger rising. "That never took much. She was scared of everything."

"Did she have reason to be afraid of you, Nick? You said you went to her place that night to talk to her, but she wasn't so receptive to your attention any more, was she?"

Mustello's anger suddenly got away from him and he hit the stand again, this time with his fist. The wood beneath his hand cracked under the force of his blow. "She had it good, the stupid bitch. She got what was coming to her! But you...you messed it all up! Logan and that little bitch from Major Case would never have looked at me if you hadn't been there! I should have taken care of you first instead of finishing up with her!" His face turned into a sneer. "After all, she wasn't going nowhere."

Goren stood by silently, listening to the man rant, and he knew the exact second that it dawned on Mustello what he had just done. The rage on his face became murderous. Goren was ready for him, and both Logan and Eames ran forward with the bailiff. They subdued Mustello quickly, and Eames handed her cuffs to Goren, who kept Mustello on the ground with a knee in the center of his back. He snapped on the cuffs and leaned down, bringing his mouth close to the other man's ear. "Just so you know, that _detective_ from Major Case, Detective Eames, is my partner."

He yanked Mustello to his feet and passed him off to the bailiff. Mustello stopped and glared at Goren. "You'd better hope I never get out, Goren, because if I do, I swear, I'll finish the job I started that night. I won't let you live a second time."

Jack McCoy leaned back in his chair and watched the three detectives return to their seats without interacting. He had mixed feelings about Mustello's confession. He'd been so certain Goren was guilty. A past like his was difficult to overcome, and the thought that he had overcome it further weakened the common defense: "He is a product of his environment."

Slowly, he rose to his feet. "Your Honor, in light of Nicholas Mustello's confession, the People move to dismiss the case against Robert Goren."

Boucher smiled, pleased. She had no desire to watch Goren go to prison. He had always been one of her favorites among the officers she dealt with on a regular basis. "Motion granted. The case is dismissed. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, thank you for your time."

McCoy approached Moredock and Carver and extended his hand. "Brilliant move, Barry. How long did you know that Mustello was the man?"

"We got preliminaries on the third person's blood match during lunch. Lieutenant Van Buren agreed to let Detective Green help us out. It should never be about putting a man in jail, Jack. It should always be about putting the _right _man in jail."

McCoy nodded. "I really thought he _was _the right man."

Rubirosa stepped up to his side. "I didn't," she said with a smile. "I'm glad you were wrong, Jack."

While the lawyers talked, Goren turned in his chair. Eames rose and stepped to the bar that separated the gallery from the court. Goren hesitated for a moment before he also rose and stepped up to her. She wanted to hug him, but she hesitated, forcing herself to settle for touching his hand.

He withdrew his hand and dipped his head closer to her. "I wasn't wrong, Eames. He would have killed you."

"You underestimate me, Goren."

He shook his head. "I learned a long time ago not to do that. I think you underestimated him. Conscience holds people back from doing a lot of things. Mustello has no conscience."

She stood her ground and insisted, "We did what needed to be done, Bobby. We did our job, and we sent the right man to prison. It was worth the risk."

He shook his head slowly. "It would not have been worth it if he'd harmed you in any way."

She frowned and studied his face. "Why do you think you don't matter?"

He leaned closer and softly replied, "Because I don't."

She felt her anger well up again, and she turned suddenly and walked away to keep herself from turning her anger on him in the courtroom. Before he had a chance to react to her departure, a hand touched his arm and he turned to face Carver. "Once again, detective, you did not disappoint."

"I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Carver. You took time from your family, your job..."

It did not pass Carver's notice that Goren placed family first. "I was glad to do it, detective. It would be a loss to the department and a grave injustice to send you to Riker's. I honestly don't think you have it in you to unnecessarily take a life."

Moredock stepped up and extended his hand to Goren. "Excellent job, Bobby. I couldn't have done better myself."

Goren accepted his lawyer's hand. "Thank you, Mr. Moredock, for all you did. I know it wasn't easy, defending me."

"It was easier than you think, and the outcome was well worth it. I'm glad Alex called me. Where is she?"

Goren shrugged, looking toward the back of the courtroom where she'd gone. "I don't know, but I need to get going. I have some things to do. Again, thank you, gentlemen."

They watched him leave, and Moredock asked, "Why do I get the feeling he didn't mean that?"

"He's not an easy man to figure out, Barry. How about some dinner, my treat?"

"You'll get no argument from me."

The two lawyers left the courtroom. In the hall, they ran into Eames and Logan. Her anger had faded, replaced with a deep concern that she needed to address with Goren, but she couldn't find him. She hoped his layers would know where he was. "Where did Bobby go?" she asked.

"He left a few minutes ago," Carver answered. "He said he had some things to do."

She looked around. "I didn't see him leave."

Carver shrugged. "He didn't say where he was going, but I'm sure he's fine. Barry and I are going to dinner if you and Detective Logan would like to join us."

Logan nodded assent. "Count me in, thanks."

He knew that Eames would decline the invitation; she was too worried about Goren. He wasn't wrong. Her eyes darted around the area. "No, thank you, gentlemen. I think I should find my partner." His ability to fade into a crowd despite his size was frustrating. "Thank you both very much for what you've done."

They smiled, both very pleased with the way everything worked out, as she turned and walked away. They didn't know Goren the way she did. She felt an urgency she could not shake.

Once on the steps outside, Eames scanned the people scurrying about to get in out of the cold. There was no sign of Goren and she had no idea where to start looking. Slowly, she descended the steps and walked toward the SUV. She drove south, toward Battery Park. It was a place to start.

* * *

He looked down at the fresh grave and gently set the flowers he'd brought on the overturned dirt. No headstone had been placed yet; only a brass marker was in place that read "Hodges, Lorraine. 1968-2008." A life interrupted by violence, a life he could not save. "I'm sorry, Lori. You needed me, and I let you down. I always seem to fall short just when I'm needed most. It's the story of my life. Please...forgive me..."

He dropped his chin to his chest and stood there, silent, oblivious to the cold and the wind that picked up and blew around him. He never prayed because he no longer believed in a God who heard men's prayers, but out of lifelong habit, his mind sent thoughts to Heaven, pleading for mercy for the soul of the kind and gentle woman who'd succumbed to temptation and paid for it with her life.

"What are you doing here?"

He turned, startled by the unfriendly voice that interrupted his thoughts. He stepped away from the grave. "I'm sorry to intrude, Mr. Bergeron. I just wanted to say good bye."

"If it weren't for you, I wouldn't have had to bury her."

"I did not kill your wife, but I do accept the part I played in her death by my failure to save her."

Bergeron had seen Mustello's confession, and he sized up the man standing before him. "After all these years, you really did answer her cry for help, didn't you?"

Goren nodded. "For all the good it did. I tried to protect her, and I failed. For that, I truly am sorry. Good night, Mr. Bergeron." He cast one final glance toward the freshly turned soil that covered a woman who had been his friend. "Goodbye," he whispered.

Turning, he walked away and left the cemetery.


	27. When You Care Enough

Eames sat down wearily on a bench overlooking the harbor, pulling her coat tightly around her. She'd walked the length of the Esplanade twice without running into her partner. He wasn't answering his phone and she didn't have any idea where else to look for him. The sun was dipping toward the horizon and storm clouds were moving in. The mid-winter wind was blowing colder off the water and she was chilled to the bone. It was time to go home, but she was reluctant. Maybe one more walk up the Esplanade and she would grab a cab back to her car. By then it would definitely be too cold to walk it again, especially if the wind kept up like it was.

Getting up from the bench, she pulled her coat more snugly around her and walked with the wind mostly at her back, so she could see the people she was passing. She was almost at the end of the walk when she saw him, leaning on the railing as he looked out over the water, face to the wind. That figured. She approached casually and leaned against the railing beside him, back to the wind. Unconsciously, she sniffled, and he turned his head at the sound. "Eames. What are you doing here?"

"Looking for my idiot partner."

"Why?"

"Because I'm cursed. God help me for caring about you, Goren."

He looked back out across the water. "God has very little to do with that, Eames."

She shivered as much at the cold as at the tone in his voice. Annoyed, she said, "Do you mind if we take this out of the cold, please?"

He didn't move, hoping she would take the hint and go home. She took the hint, but responded by burying her shoulder in his arm and shoving him hard. "Let's go," she said, not willing to argue about it.

He hesitated, thinking about trying to send her on her way, but he sensed that would cause more problems between them than it would solve for him, so he went along with her, allowing her to guide him down the path toward the southern end of the island.

When she shivered again, he slipped out of his coat and draped it over her shoulders. She tried to protest. "No, it's too cold for you to be out here in only your suit."

"I'm fine. Take the coat."

"Bobby..."

"Take the coat."

It was warm and comfortable and she reminded herself that it was his fault that she was so cold. After all, she'd been looking for him all damn afternoon. She pulled his coat tighter around her, and she was warm for the first time in hours.

She cast a glance toward him. His hands were buried deep in his pockets and his eyes were cast down at the ground. "Correct me if I'm wrong," she said. "But weren't you _acquitted_ of murder this afternoon?"

"You were there," he answered.

"So why do you look like a condemned man?"

He kicked at a rock in the path, sending it skittering into the grass. "Do you want to know where I went this afternoon?"

She did but she was also afraid to find out. She took a deep breath. "Where?"

"I went to Cypress Hills Cemetery, to Lori's grave...to say good-bye."

She tried not to react, but she couldn't help it. Regardless of the outcome of his trial, Lori was still dead and nothing would change that. His acquittal did not erase the responsibility he placed on himself for her death. Quietly, she said, "You did not kill her."

"I know. But I didn't save her either."

She was quiet for a moment, considering how to answer him. "You said on the stand that his rage gave him an edge that you did not have."

He shrugged. "I guess we'll never know."

She knew better than to try talking to him while he was in a mood like this, so she walked beside him in silence the rest of the way to her car.

The drive to his apartment was equally silent. Goren stared out the window, lost in thought. He ran through the events of the night Lori died, now that they were once again clear in his mind, but he could not think of anything he would have done differently. He could not have fought any harder; he would have been injured just as badly. Maybe, if he'd had his gun...of course, if Mustello had gotten his hands on it, it could have really sealed his fate. The bottom line was that Lori was dead, and nothing he could have done would change that hard, cold fact. He'd done what he could, but it wasn't enough. Just one more inadequacy, one more failure. His mother would not be surprised, and neither was he.

Eames glanced at him from time to time, trying to judge his state of mind, but he was closed off to her. She knew he bore the burden of Lori Hodges death heavily, but she wasn't sure there was any way she could ease that burden for him.

She parked outside his apartment and they got out of the car. She waited on the sidewalk by the car and watched him walk toward the building. It took a moment for him to notice she was not with him, and he turned, his brow furrowed into a puzzled frown. "Is something wrong?"

"Do you want me to come up with you?"

He hesitated for a moment before finally nodding. "If you don't mind. You don't have to if you don't want to..."

With a sigh of deep frustration, she stepped away from the car and walked toward him, giving him a shove when she reached him. "Just stop talking and go."

She followed him into the building.

He unlocked the door and let them into the apartment. He went into the kitchen as she hung up his coat and then her own. When he came out, he handed her a glass of wine and sat on the couch with a tumbler full of scotch.

She slipped off her shoes and tucked her legs up under her, comfortable in his apartment and with him. He watched her, a look of amazement on his face. She noticed. "What's the matter?" she asked.

"You...know...you know what happened that night. You know that I-I failed. I failed in my job. I failed as her friend. And yet...you're here. You're still here."

"Of course I am. I made a commitment to stick it out for the long haul, Goren. You're my partner and my friend. I don't take either of those relationships lightly." She took a drink of her wine. "I don't see what happened as a failure on your part, Bobby. You were seriously injured. You didn't turn your back on her or walk away when trouble came calling. You faced it head on. You tried your best, but for once, you were overwhelmed. Someone else got the upper hand, and you're just not used to that. You're human, and sometimes we get bested. It happens. So you deal with it and you move on. Don't dwell on it. Don't let it destroy you. For my sake, if not your own, let it go."

"I'm not sure I know how to do that."

"Find a way. Do not let this consume you. I'm sorry Lori had to die, but this serves as a reminder that you are not invincible. You can be hurt, Bobby. He would have killed you if he had the chance; he almost did. I don't know how you feel about that, but it scares me. I'm not ready to lose you."

He continued to watch her, a look of bewilderment on his face. "You...feel that strongly?"

When she spoke, there was an intensity in her voice that rivaled his. "I want to get one thing perfectly clear. In my life, there are few people outside my family who really matter to me. And your name sits alone at the top of that list. You may not think of yourself as important, Bobby, but you are. You're very important to me."

As she watched his face, she was struck by an overwhelming feeling that he was beyond words right now, almost beyond feeling. As much as he relied on words, as powerfully as he always used them, he was not as adept at receiving them. She set her wineglass on the coffee table and reached out to remove the tumbler from his hands and set it beside her glass. Sliding closer to him, she leaned in to brush her lips over his.

He allowed the soft kiss, then he withdrew, studying her as he carefully considered his next words. Quietly, he said, "You...have an out, Eames, if you want it. We're partners, and that's all we have to be. I need you as my partner. Anything more..."

She reached toward him. "Shh. Before you say something really stupid. I know you offered me an out, and I do appreciate that. But I don't want an out. I never did. I always knew exactly what I was doing, and it was what I wanted to do. Now if you want to back out..."

"I never said that," he protested.

"Then what's the problem?"

Silently, his eyes scanned her face, then dipped down to look at her body. Once he was distracted, she leaned in again. This time, when she moved to kiss him, he met her halfway and he didn't hold back.

Morning found him sleeping soundly beside her in the bed. When she snuggled into him, he pulled her close, never waking, and she decided this was the way she wanted to start every morning. She drifted back to sleep in his arms.

_fin_.


End file.
